


The Hottest Topic

by extree



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-10
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-03-17 07:04:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 142,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3519908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extree/pseuds/extree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mr Gold, desperate to reconnect with his teenage goth son, ventures bravely into Hot Topic in search of an appropriate present. Local pop punk enthusiast and Hot Topic employee Belle French is happy and eager to help. Very eager.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Screwballninja](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Screwballninja).



> Okay, okay, listen. I know. I _know_.
> 
> This is an Evanescence joke that got way out of hand and turned into a birthday present for [Screwballninja](http://screwballninja.tumblr.com/), who encouraged me to write this, and therefore totally has it coming. Happy birthday, friend. This is mostly your fault. I mean, I wrote it, but you gave it a title, without which I couldn’t have posted it, so there. Having blamed you, I will now thank you for being awesome: Thank you.
> 
>  **Edit:** Forgot to mention - set in early 00s.

Gold spent precisely twelve minutes in his shop that morning, staring blankly ahead and feeling sorry for himself until he remembered that children can be bought, can they not? Buying the cooperation of a six-year-old wasn’t that expensive, nor was it difficult. An ice cream cone, a balloon, a little toy car, perhaps, would do the trick. They weren’t picky at that age. But the forgiveness of a sixteen-year-old was altogether a pricier operation. Riskier, too. It would be more than worth it if it worked, and money posed no problem at all, so the only real issue here was what to buy him. And he had a plan for that.

Neal had been absolutely no help at all, understandably. He was still giving him the silent treatment for his cock-up the week before, and even before that, the boy had been reluctant to share his interests with him, so Gold was well and truly in the dark. That was a particularly apt expression, actually; _in the dark_. All he knew was that Neal hadn’t bought a single piece of clothing that wasn’t black in the past year, and he was a great big fan of bats and crows, now. Kept doodling them. Rather well, in fact. And he knew that in a certain sense, it was cowardly to want to buy his forgiveness instead of waiting it out and showing a bit of patience, but was it really so wrong to try and ease the process along? Gold had apologized to his son on a near daily basis since his little misstep (huge misstep, alright, fine, yes) but it all just seemed to bounce off his sound-absorbing wall of righteous rejection and made him feel as if he’d just set himself back even further.

He missed him. He missed talking to him. He missed him more than he dreaded angering him by trying to buy his forgiveness. That was why Gold had flipped the sign in the pawn shop door that morning, locked up, got into his car and drove to the mall the next town over. It was a place he usually avoided like the plague, and on this lovely spring day, the vast sterile building rising from the middle of its black asphalt sea repelled him even more than it usually did, but braving that air-conditioned hell was a necessary evil on this occasion. There was nothing for it but to head to the only store he knew of that would sell something that might appeal to a teenager who dressed in nothing but black and was under the naive impression that his father would mistake the smell of vanilla clove cigarettes for prolonged exposure to a car freshener.

So there he was, a grown man in a shop called Hot Topic, a shop that hopefully held the solution to his problem. This was the questionable establishment in which he might find something to help him earn his dear boy Neal’s forgiveness a little faster, so that dinner might be bearable again, and that heavy feeling in his stomach every time the boy got home from school and wordlessly locked himself in his room to listen to his favorite dreary dirge-like songs might never return - or at least until the next time Gold put his foot in it.

The place was very cave-like with its dark colors and strange imagery. There wasn’t much room to move between the racks and displays, and even the walls were lined with things - right up to the ceiling, almost. He didn’t recognize the music, but that was to be expected. At least it wasn’t too loud. It was empty at this relatively early hour, thankfully. Although the general color scheme didn’t disagree with him - dark colors were better than the utter whiteness of the rest of the place - he still felt incredibly out of place. The girl behind the counter hadn’t noticed him walk in, which was perfect. She was bent over a book - or no; a notebook or a ledger, because she was scribbling in it. Good. Gold decided he would walk about as quietly as he could so that if he didn’t find anything, he could sneak out again unnoticed, too. Like it never even happened at all.

But that plan went flying out of the window and over the horizon, well out of his reach for good, when he bumped into something that made a hell of a lot more noise than it ought to have. A quick glance told him it was a rack full of studded leather belts, and oh no - the girl at the counter looked up. With wide eyes that locked his joints in place, she blinked at him in shock as if he’d just walked into her living room unannounced. He had startled her, and she had unnerved him, and they had somehow turned it into a staring contest. Gold felt a rare need to apologize.

“Sorry,” he croaked.

The girl smiled and waved his concern away, and for a moment there, he thought she was going to sidle over and start up the dreaded ‘What are you doing here and how can I get you out faster and a few dollars poorer?’ conversation, but she stayed put. She didn’t break eye contact although she was already lowering her head again to resume writing, until she did, and he found that he could move again. Strange girl. Strange shop with a strange girl in charge.

Gold didn’t know where to start. The rack he had just bumped into seemed as good a place to start as any, but Neal had plenty of belts just like these. It was a good sign. If there was at least one thing in this store his son liked, well then, to think there might be another wasn’t that farfetched. The difficulty lay in identifying it, and that wasn’t going to happen if he kept staring at those belts, or at that girl scribbling in her notebook. So with his cane firmly in hand, Gold walked slowly on and let his eyes glide over band shirts upon band shirts upon band shirts, odd jewelry, CDs, posters in the back, themed school supplies, and accessories he couldn’t picture his son wearing at all. Neal had had his ears pierced, but somehow the thought of buying him earrings was too strange a thing to seriously consider. Not that he minded the silly things - he was happy he hadn’t yet asked to have anything else pierced - but he would rather buy his son the wrong CD than the wrong jewelry, and he suspected Neal might agree that that was preferable.

To the music section, then, to see if something looked familiar at all, because he was pretty bloody sure he would only be wasting his time if he ventured anywhere near the extremely out of place looking Care Bear merchandise in the corner over there. Standing in front of the tiered CD display, Gold was suddenly overcome with a sense of futility. He hadn’t expected there to be that many options. From outside, the store looked to be about 87 percent band shirts, 10 percent things with spikes on them. He had counted on about 3 percent music. He had been mistaken.

“Good morning, sir!” said a cheery voice.

Ugh. And so it began. Gold turned to find the girl standing next to him with a million watt smile. God, but she was a sneaky little thing. Light on her feet. He hadn’t heard her walk up to him at all.

“Can I help you find something specific?”

She had an accent that sounded just as foreign as those pastel bears looked next to the black band shirts just behind her. An Australian in these parts? Gold had run into more of those in his one year in London than he had in the fifteen years he’d lived in Maine.

“Well, I, uh…”

Her eyes were really quite striking up close - a very distinct shade of blue that both invited and defied comparison. There was a little silver stud in her nose that caught what very little light there was as she tilted her head to the side. Her long hair, brown with a streak of dark blue, looked very soft as it shifted and fell over her shoulder.

“Sir?”

Oh. Staring. She and Neal seemed to have a few things in common. Copious amounts of eyeliner, at least, and that alone meant she had him beat on the matter. Perhaps it would be good to let her help, or try to. Gold cleared his throat and straightened his back, and with a serious voice told the girl, “I’m looking to buy a gift, but, uh, I didn’t come prepared.”

“Son or daughter?” she asked him, smiling very sweetly.

“A son. He’s sixteen. I thought I might recognize something from a poster in his room, maybe, but there’s quite a lot to choose from,” he said, nodding towards the rows of CDs.

She nodded. “We’ve got a pretty big selection compared to most stores. I can help you look, if you like. What’s he into?”

Ah, here was where Gold had to reveal himself to this stranger to be an inattentive, out of touch father - if she hadn’t yet smelled the desperation on him already. “I don’t know,” he admitted, aimlessly flicking through the first four CDs in the ‘A’ section, not really looking at all. “The color black, definitely. Vampires. Wolves, I think. And bats. Generally any sort of nocturnal pest, if it comes in black. That, and demonstrative brooding.”

He didn’t know why he hadn’t just answered her question in a serious manner, but he was glad he hadn’t, because she laughed, and it made him feel a little less anxious about the matter. Perhaps she really could help; surely he wasn’t the first clueless parent she had found wandering about the store, bumping into the merchandise, looking desperate.

“Well, I mean, that is a significant portion of our target demographic, so you’ve come to the right place,” she joked in a deep, conspiratorial tone. Her little grin made the corners of his mouth twitch. “But he’s into music for sure? Do you know which genres, maybe? Bands?”

“I’m afraid not. I know he loves music, but he won’t tell me about it. At all.”

“Oh, dear. Well, the good news is that still sounds like our target demographic. Do you think he might like what’s playing right now?”

Gold looked up towards the source of the racket - and a racket it was - even though he knew very well one didn’t generally need eyesight to hear. He forced himself to keep it up so that it would look deliberate and not at all as if he’d just realized how ridiculous a move that was.

“No,” he decided, and after a moment of staring at the wall, he looked back down at the diminutive Australian to shake his head. “This is too active. Too cheerful.”

“Ah, right. Well, that narrows it down, I guess,” she said, nodding seriously. “You mentioned brooding. Is it an angry sort of brooding or a sad sort of brooding?”

“It’s more sad than angry, but he’s not sad.” _He didn’t used to be._ Gold swallowed that thought and bit the inside of his cheek sharply before continuing, “I think part of it is just an appreciation of the aesthetic of sadness. Tortured poetic soul sort of thing, if that makes any sense to you at all.”

She snorted, and for a moment, he thought she might have been laughing _at_ him, but then she nodded again and told him, “Makes complete sense to me. Now let’s see.”

The girl stared at the rows of CDs in front of them with her eyebrows close together in concentration. _Clack clack clack clack_ went the little plastic cases as she looked through them at an impressive speed. Gold found his eyes wandering over her profile. She brushed her hair behind her shoulder and tucked a stray couple of strands behind her ear, and lo and behold - there was another thing she and Neal had in common. A collection of piercings along the rim of the shell of her ear. Many little rings, one stud, and what looked like a little flower. How old was she? Wasn’t she chilly with those ripped tights under her black denim skirt? Were plaid button-ups back in fashion already? God, he really couldn’t keep up anymore.

“This one might work!”

Her voice dragged him out of his reverie and made him feel embarrassed of his lingering gaze, although he realized to his tremendous relief that she did not appear to have noticed. She smiled and held up a CD with a very pale woman’s face on the front of the booklet. “It’s very popular, and it fits in with what you described, I think. I’m not one hundred percent sure, though. I’ll admit that this could either be a safe bet or a huge mistake.”

Gold reached out to take it, but before he could do that, her arms dropped straight down, and she frowned. With her head tilted to the side again, she looked a little bit as if she was trying to remember whether she’d left the stove on. Had her batteries run out?

“Wait. Did _that_ make sense?” she finally asked.

He raised an eyebrow and tried not to smile at her befuddlement. “That it’s a safe bet and risky at the same time?”

“Yeah! D’you know what I mean?”

She sounded so hopeful that Gold felt obliged to nod, smile kindly and tell her, “Of course. Makes perfect sense.”

“Oh, good!”

Most people probably either hated it or loved it, but the latter category was so great in numbers that statistically, it was a safe bet. That was what she meant, right? Some strange, unwelcome little voice in the back of his mind mockingly told him that he probably would have nodded even if he hadn’t caught on. Gold cleared his throat with a cough to drown it out and banish it.

“Do _you_ like it?” he asked.

“Not really my scene. Sells like hotcakes, though.”

She held out the CD for him to inspect, so he took it from her (her nails were painted black), flipped it over and pretended to read the track list as he weighed up his options. This girl and his son were very clearly not alike. She didn’t seem to be allergic to color, like he was. She bounced ever so slightly on her heels to the beat of the music blaring overhead - music that he knew for a fact Neal wouldn’t enjoy. If she didn’t like the CD, that was an argument for it, was it not?

“You can always come back and return it,” she offered carefully, clasping her hands behind her back. “I mean, hopefully you don’t have to, but you’d be welcome to, is what I mean.”

Gold felt his mouth twist into a smile again. This girl was very sweet, or very good at playing the part of happily dutiful shop girl. Either way, she had made the experience a lot less awful than he had expected it to be, and he appreciated that.

“Alright. I’ll go with this one.”

“Great!” she exclaimed with a radiant grin. “I’ll just go and ring this up for you, then.”

She led him to the register and explained their return policy while he found his credit card. One very quick transaction, one cheerful “Have a nice day!” and a sincere “You too,” later, and Gold was on his way out with his purchase. Before walking back out into the now even more intolerable brightness of the squeaky clean white mall, he looked over his shoulder one more time. She smiled.

…

“I got you something, son!” he called out from the kitchen the moment he heard the front door close that very same afternoon. “It’s on the dining room table!”

Hopeful and anxious, Gold stopped chopping tomatoes for a moment to wait for a reaction. He heard Neal’s bag drop to the floor with a heavy thud, the footsteps of his combat boots into the dining room, and then… silence.

“Are you hungry?” Gold called out, growing more nervous by the second. “I’m making a tomato and garlic salad for now.” He forced himself to swallow a vampire joke, which he knew from experience Neal didn’t find amusing in the slightest. He put on a brave face as his footsteps neared. “I haven’t decided on dinner, yet. What are you in the mood for? How was school?”

Overdoing it a touch, perhaps. Probably because he felt it coming.

“This? Are you serious?”

And there it was. Of course. Failure. Hopefully it would be quick.

Neal now stood in the kitchen doorway, holding up the offending object between two fingers, dangling it and glaring at it in a way that would cause anyone to think that it wasn’t a CD, but in fact, a dead rodent.

“No good?”

“Please tell me this is a joke,” Neal said, putting his disaster of a gift down on the kitchen table and shooting it another destructive look. One more of those and the blasted thing would catch fire, he was sure of it.

“You don’t like it,” sighed Gold, putting down his knife and wiping his hand on a tea towel.

“Of course I don’t! I hate most recent stuff anyway, but _Evanescence_ , dad? Seriously? Why would you think I would like this? You don’t know me at all, do you?”

He tilted his chin up a little bit, feeling both hurt and defensive. “Fine, so it’s a bit wide of the mark. But it was a long shot! You didn’t give me much to go on. Be fair.”

“A bit? A bit wide? In which galaxy did you think the mark was?”

“Alright, alright!” sighed Gold, throwing his hands up in surrender. “I can return it, no bother at all. I don’t mind. If you would just tell me what you’d like instead, then -”

“ _Nothing!_ Dad, stop trying. Please. If you waste any more money, you’re gonna make me feel worse.” He looked more sad than angry as he turned around and headed out of the room. “Just leave me alone,” he mumbled, shaking his head. “I don’t wanna feel bad for you.”

Gold groaned and squeezed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose. It was getting to be an exhausting, ungrateful business, translating Neal’s sharp-edged words to something a little softer, a little kinder. But at the same time, Gold could tell the boy was trying not to be hurtful. _Please_ , he’d said. That meant he was trying, he told himself, and telling himself that made him feel better, and at the same time, worse.

Because Neal was a good lad. He was caring, and helpful, and he did his chores without grumbling and did well at school. Not spectacular, but well enough, and he was more than happy with that. Neal was genuinely hurt and upset with him, not mindlessly lashing out, although he could sense he wanted to, and it appeared Gold wasn’t making it very easy for his son.

But he’d gotten a hint out of this train wreck, at least. Not a very generous one, but a hint nonetheless. _Recent stuff._ ‘Stuff’ was music. That was obvious. ‘Recent’, on the other hand, was a rather vague time period, impossible to define. There was no knowing where it began, for one. Two years ago? Four years ago? Centuries ago? Was he only into Gregorian chanting, now?

No, no, but this was good, he decided as he picked up his knife and got right back to chopping up his tomatoes, his stomach rumbling. Neal stomped up the stairs to his room and when he all but slammed the door shut behind him, Gold cringed but also smiled, because yes, this was definitely good. Now he could narrow it down to anything that wasn’t released in… oh, God. Four years? Five?

He would just have to go back. Perhaps at the same time he went last time. That girl had been very helpful so far, and although her first guess had been off by miles - or lightyears, Neal might argue - she had had even less to go on than he did, and she seemed capable, at least. Safest to go tomorrow. You see, when she was explaining the return policy, he had been a little bit distracted by her fingers as she played with her hair, so yes. Safest to go tomorrow morning, just in case.

…

The girl noticed him right away that Thursday morning, looking up from that notebook of hers with wide eyes and a smile. She dropped her pen and came out from behind the counter to meet him. She wore jeans today, but ripped like her tights. Perhaps she just walked to work. Through miles and miles of bramble bushes.

“Hi again! How did it go?”

She looked so hopeful Gold felt strangely compelled to deliver the news gently. “It wasn’t entirely a resounding success, I’m afraid.”

Her eyes fell on the little plastic bag in his hand and her smile crumbled, her brow wrinkling in concern. “Oh no… Was it bad?”

“He gave me the same look he gave me when I accidentally overfed his goldfish while he was away at camp.”

“Oh, I’m sorry!” she cried, taking the little bag from him and walking over to the counter to leave it there.

Although it was true, he’d meant it as a silly joke to get that sad look off her face, but it had backfired, evidently, because the girl now not only looked disappointed, but guilty, too. He followed her, more than a little puzzled at her emotional reaction. “That’s alright. I knew it was a long shot.”

“But still, I… I recommended it.”

She looked absolutely crushed, and it was making him feel very strange indeed. Those bright blue eyes staring up at him were turning out to be lethal, and he; a man with a weakness for pretty, precious, shiny things; a man who sought them out and collected them for his shop; was right in the line of fire, quite unable to look away.

“Really, it’s fine. You told me it might not work. You were perfectly helpful.”

Why, exactly, was he trying to spare her feelings, here? Why did she even have any on the matter? He was beginning to suspect he could very well stand there and try to reassure her all morning and she would _still_ feel responsible for his lackluster parenting skills as of late, so he decided to try and distract her instead. Or more accurately; to get her to focus her attention on the matter at hand.

“Besides, I got a hint out of it, I think. He told me he doesn’t like anything too recent, but I’m not sure what that means, exactly.”

“Oh!”

Her face lit up, and gone was the heavy weight from his stomach. Thank God. One more second of that puppy-like apologetic stare, and he would have… Well, he had no idea, but he was relieved he wouldn’t have to find out.

“I could have another look at the CDs with you, then, cause that could rule out a lot. That is, if you’d like to try again?”

“That’s why I’m here.”

“Okay!”

She walked towards the CDs, glancing over her shoulder to make sure he was following. She had a lovely smile, this girl. He wished he knew her name, but he suspected it would be a little odd to ask. It would probably be very strange to ask her age as well, wouldn’t it? Didn’t matter anyway; he was just curious. She dressed young and seemed very energetic, but there was something about her that made him wonder if she was older than she looked.

Back in front of the CDs, it became clear to him that if they really did find something here to Neal’s liking, it would be nothing short of a miracle. Nothing looked familiar, except there was The Clash, and over there were The Sex Pistols, but if his boy had been listening to anything like that, he surely would have noticed. Gold glanced at the girl to see if she found the task as daunting as he did, and found his eyes sticking to the sight of her nibbling on her bottom lip, looking ever so serious and focused, as if this was a matter of life and death. Every once in a while, she stopped to push the sleeves of her hoodie back up. They were far too long. Gold felt himself smile, and unfortunately, she chose that moment to look back at him, and her serious expression changed into something a little closer to confusion, and rightly so, because the poor girl had just caught him staring at her like some kind of…

Oh, but she didn’t startle. Didn’t seem unnerved. She just smiled and looked back down at her fingers as she flipped through the plastic cases, making more of those oddly satisfying clacking sounds, and it appeared he was in the clear. Her nails were painted black again today. So were Neal’s.

“I, uh… To be honest…” she said quietly, staring fixedly at her own fingers as she flipped back a couple of CDs. “To be honest, even with that hint, this is still pretty difficult. I can make a slightly more educated guess than last time, but still, it’s not much to go on. I was thinking maybe… Maybe your, uh… your _wife_ … has some idea?”

She hadn’t glanced up once while she slowly built up to her question. Now her bottom lip disappeared between her teeth, and she picked up one of the CDs, flipped it over, quickly read the track list and put it back.

“No, I… I’m not married.”

She stopped biting her lip to smile for a split second, then replied, “Ah. Okay. I just thought maybe his mother… or stepmother, or someone _else_ might, y’know, might have an idea…”

“No, no. Good thought, that, but no. It’s just me and him, and I don’t have a clue.”

“Oh, alright.”

But it _wasn’t_ a very good thought, actually, was it? It was a very curious little thought to voice, there. Surely, unless the girl thought him a complete idiot, she would have assumed that he had already asked his hypothetical wife for her input? If he didn’t know any better…

She flashed him another very quick smile, and softly added, “Sorry. I just figured, y’know, cause you’re very…”

She trailed off, and it made him want to scream. No! He didn’t know! Very? Very what? Gold raised an eyebrow and waited with bated breath for her to finish that sentence. How could she end it there?

But she didn’t finish it. She just shrugged, laughed a little nervously and said, “You know. I just figured there was probably _someone_ …”

She figured a lot, and she assumed he knew a lot, too. She wasn’t finishing her sentences anymore, and her face had turned a charming shade of red. Was this a genuine attempt at exploring any and all possible helplines that had gone a little awkward?

“No, no,” he said, both amused and utterly confused. “No help there, I’m afraid.”

Or was she trying to flirt?

She nodded and _clack clack clacked_ her way through a few more CDs while he stood and quietly marveled, wondered, admired. And oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. This was bad news.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, the girl broke the tense silence with a useless little cough, then asked him, “Could you have a look at his music collection, maybe?”

“Unfortunately not. He keeps his CDs in his room.”

The hollow plastic noises stopped. The girl gave him a quizzical look, and Gold suddenly realized he must have made it seem as if Neal’s room was guarded by a moat full of ill-tempered crocodiles, so he explained, “I don’t go in there if he doesn’t want me to. And he doesn’t want me to.”

Her lips formed a silent _aha_. The red was slowly fading from her pretty face, but oh, he wasn’t going to forget about that any time soon. He couldn’t possibly. Not ever, in all likelihood.

“It’s nice of you to respect that,” she said with a little smile.

“I’m just on my best behavior, that’s all,” he muttered grimly. “I forgot to knock last week.”

He hadn’t really meant to share that with her, but now that she was staring at him with all the focus of a toddler hypnotized by a puppet show, he supposed he had to continue the story. “He had a girl there with him,” he sighed. “She got such a fright she nearly went flying through the window.”

“Oh no! It wasn’t _bad_ , was it?”

“No, no, no, God no. Thank God. It could have been much worse. They were just kissing. But well, they were on his bed together, so it looked a little cosy.”

“Oh my God. Yeah, that would be embarrassing.”

That had been the start of it all: He forgot to knock, and all hell broke loose. He could remember it like it was yesterday, unfortunately. The girl, blonde and impressively fast on her feet, had darted past him and flew down the stairs and out of the house, leaving the front door wide open. A terrifying glare was all he got before Neal ran after her, calling her name. He returned hours later, just before his curfew, with a face like stone, refusing to make eye contact, and he had barely said a word to him since.

“He’s still very upset about it.”

“So this is to try and make it up to him?”

Gold nodded and gave her a half smile. She had been staring at him for a while, hanging from his lips as if he were telling her the story of the century. He picked out an album at random, looked at it, put it back and quietly wondered to himself why he had felt the need to tell her this at all. She didn’t need to know. And yet he couldn’t stop talking. “I didn’t even know he had a girlfriend. I suppose that’s why I want to get him something he really likes. A gift certificate won’t do.”

“I understand. But hey, I’m sure he’ll get over it,” she offered. She had stopped flicking through the CDs completely, and so had he. “I bet he’s just really embarrassed. You’ll probably laugh about this in a few years. It’ll be fine.”

Gold found it difficult to believe that the entire thing could just as easily sort itself out if he gave it time, but he smiled and nodded anyway, just because it looked like she really wanted him to feel better.

“I was just as embarrassed as him, to be honest.”

She tried to stifle a giggle by biting her lip. The sound was very infectious and made him want to laugh, too, but he bit his tongue and smiled instead. This was by far the oddest series of interactions he had ever had with a shop girl. Just a few minutes ago, she had been blushing and stammering for no good reason that he could think of, and now she was trying to make him feel less of an incompetent father. If all of that was in her job description, he sure would like to read it and see what else was in there.

“If it makes you feel any better,” she said, her voice suddenly deeper, a little bit of a smirk on her face, “that happened to me with my first boyfriend, and I was glad we got interrupted. Terrible kisser.”

“You or him?”

The words were out before he knew it, and now he wasn’t entirely convinced his heart was beating. She stared at him, her eyes getting big, her lips slowly stretching into a huge grin. Fuck. _Fuck._ He didn’t even know how old she was. What was he doing?

“Definitely him.”

Gold felt his eyebrows shoot up quite without his permission. The girl giggled again, and he laughed a short, quiet laugh that probably sounded forced or nervous. Either. Both. He wasn’t sure. He didn’t want to know. The voice in the back of his mind finally answered, _‘Flirting back, that’s what.’_ And he needn’t have worried about his heart. It was, in fact, still beating. Wildly.

Meanwhile the blush had returned to her cheeks, but she wrestled her grin down and returned to the task at hand. She moved a little closer, and he scooted along too, so she could reach for a CD in the ’N’ section.

“Um, if there’s cursing, would you have a problem with that?”

She had switched back to the calm, friendly, helpful shop girl of before, as if the past couple of minutes hadn’t even happened at all. If she switched it up one more time, he would get whiplash, he was sure of it.

But she was waiting for an answer. He decided against _‘None what-so-fucking-ever’_ and told her, “No, no, I don’t mind,” instead.

“Alright, well then, since he doesn’t like anything cheerful, and he’s not really sad, and he’s not really angry, maybe this might work? It’s a little of both. And it’s not that recent. It came out in 1994.”

She handed him a CD in a yellowish, beige cardboard jacket. Gold took it and squinted at the small lettering on the front.

“Do you like it?” he asked.

“Much too sad for me,” she replied with a shrug. “But it got really good reviews. And it’s not at all like the other band I recommended. There isn’t much overlap in the Venn diagram of fans of either.”

“The Downward Spiral?”

“That’s the album. The band’s called Nine Inch Nails.”

“That sounds familiar.”

She raised her eyebrows and let out a soft _oh._ “Good sign, maybe?” she asked. “Maybe he mentioned it once.”

“Yeah, maybe,” he murmured to himself, peering at the cardboard sleeve, trying very hard not to start staring at the girl again. “You know what? I think I’ll go with this.”

Might as well. Cane in one hand, CD in the other, Gold began to head towards the register, but he froze when she made a soft sound of objection and raised her hand as if she was about to reach out and pull him back by the sleeve.

“Um, wait.”

And there was that guilty look again - her brow furrowed, her lips pressed together tight. He hoped she wasn’t going to start apologizing for recommending that first CD again. He had no idea how he could possibly survive another unnecessary, puppy-eyed apology.

“Yes?”

“Are you sure you don’t mind bad language? I just remembered there’s a song on here that, uh…”

He turned it around to look at the track listing, but there wasn’t one. When he looked back up, she was going red again.

“Violent, you mean? I’m not worried about that. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“Yeah, but… No. Not violent. Not, ah, not really. The, uh. The o-other thing,” she stammered, quickly licking her lips and looking down at the floor, then up again to stare at something over his shoulder. He looked over his shoulder, but there was nothing. No-one. It was only then that he realized what she meant.

“Oh, you mean - Oh.” He didn’t really care at all, but he felt that perhaps he should at least pretend. “It’s just the one song?” he asked, trying to look as if he genuinely thought it mattered.

“Yeah, the rest is just, y’know.” She paused to give him a slightly crooked smile and shrugged. “Angry and sad. It’s just… Yeah. The one song.”

“Should be alright, then. I’m not going to be listening to it, anyway.”

“Of course, yeah. Good,” she laughed nervously.

But she sure as hell was making him curious, and she just looked so relieved that that very same mood that had compelled him to ask her that profoundly reckless question, earlier, came over him like a tidal wave. It bubbled up from his belly, filled up his chest, made the corners of his mouth twitch into a smirk, and made him say, “Well, I mean, I _might_.”

But she knew he was just teasing. He could tell because the girl was trying so hard not to smile she was effectively pouting instead.

“ _Anyway_ ,” she started, her grin finally breaking free, “you can just come back and return it if he doesn’t like it. I’d be happy to keep looking with you until we find something.”

“Thank you. That’s very kind.”

Yes, he could come back, Gold thought to himself as he followed her to the register where she rang up his purchase. If Neal hated it, he could just keep coming back, and she could just keep helping him, and maybe, if he managed to gather his courage before they found something he liked…

“Mr Gold?”

She must have read his name off his credit card, that was all, but still it made something in the pit of his stomach jump to hear her say his name. Oh dear indeed.

“Fingers crossed!” she said, smiling sweetly.

“Yes. Fingers crossed.”

Fingers crossed for something, yes, but he wasn’t sure what it was anymore.

“Have a nice day!”

“You too.”

The sigh he sighed the moment he slammed his car door shut and slumped in his seat was the greatest sigh he had sighed in quite some time, and would have given Neal’s a run for his money if there had been such a thing as a sighing competition.

Flirting with a girl who looked to be less than half his age, honestly. He was a pool table in the basement and a shiny red convertible away from a midlife crisis.

…

Gold got home later than expected. Dallying in that store meant that by the time he got back to his own shop, there was still far too much work to do. When he got home, Neal was in the kitchen, closing the dishwasher, looking glum. So the boy was still very much sticking with silent adolescent fury, which was fine, really. What Gold’s hormones had been getting up to was much worse.

“How was school?”

“Fine.”

An answer was an answer, even if it was only a single mumbled word. Gold decided to just get it over and done with. The boy was unlikely to be in the mood for small talk, anyway.

“Son? I know you told me not to, but I just wanted to try one more time,” he lied, knowing fully well he would head back to that shop if this didn’t work out. Only one more try? Ha.

“Oh my God,” Neal groaned, rubbing his face with his hand, mindful of his eyeliner. “What did you get this time?”

Gold swallowed and got the CD from his coat pocket, holding it out with a brave smile. Neal’s eyes grew big. The moment was so tense, he stopped breathing.

“I told you no.”

Of course. Another resounding failure, hopefully less insulting to the boy’s musical tastes than his first attempt. “So you hate this, too,” Gold sighed. He put the CD on the kitchen counter and slid it closer to Neal, just in case he hadn’t looked at it properly. Just in case he’d mistaken it for something else.

But as the seconds ticked away, there came no answer, and Gold began to realize that he didn’t look nearly as upset as he had the last time.

“Neal?”

“I got this last year,” he muttered, his brow deeply creased as he pushed the CD back to Gold with a single finger. “I told you not to buy me anything. Wasting money.”

“Wait. You like it?”

Neal rolled his eyes, shoved his hands in his pockets and began to walk away. “I own it! Jesus Christ, this is painful.”

He liked it. They’d accidentally found something he liked. This was good. This was a _miracle!_ Neal was still angry, sure, but now they had something to go on, at least.

“Can I get you the others?” he called after him. “I’m sure there were others!”

Neal stopped in the doorway and turned around slowly with a dramatic glare that deserved its very own award, surely. “No! I don’t want anything from you! And don't think you've figured me out, now, cause this is an exception. Stop trying to dissect me.”

“Son! I'm not trying to dissect you!” Jesus, but his imagery had taken a dark turn, recently. “I just want to make things right. I want you to be happy.”

“What you want is for me to stop being mad at you, and I don't have to do that. You can't tell me how to feel.”

“Neal…”

But he was off to stomp up the stairs, all the way up to his room. Gold didn’t think he even _meant_ to make so much noise, but the boots left him little choice. He heard the bedroom door slam shut behind him and he didn’t even flinch this time. It was a familiar sound by now. With a deep sigh, Gold ran his fingers through his hair and contemplated his predicament. Yes, Neal was rightfully upset, if a bit melodramatic. But was there nothing for it but to wait, then? Every time he came home with a peace offering, was he only proving his point? That they weren’t nearly as close as they used to be?

Back to the store, then. Give it another try. Each failure had been a lesson, and maybe now, they would have something solid to go on. They had found something he liked, after all.

_They._

The word - seemingly harmless, perfectly functional - had stuck, and he couldn’t quite let go of it. They. We. He and that shop girl. With the remarkable eyes and that easy smile.

…

Friday morning, Gold walked straight past the store and right back out of the mall when he noticed that it was someone else at the register, and not the girl whose name he really ought to have asked by now. In the car, on the way back to his shop, with that CD back in the glove compartment and a head full of disappointment, he told himself it was a matter of practicality. She had been helping him for two days in a row, and it would be counterproductive to involve anyone else now. He would have to explain everything all over again, what they had tried so far, what had backfired, what had been right on the mark but still no good.

Bullshit, for the most part, of course. He fancied her. He wanted to see her.

It was true that it would have been impractical to start dealing with anyone else at this point, but really, honestly, pathetically, it was mostly the fact that he fancied her. It made him uncomfortable that he didn’t even know how old she was. She looked to be in her early twenties, and that was too young for him, surely. And what if she was even younger? What if ‘early twenties’ _was_ wishful thinking? He didn’t want to be the man chasing the young shop girl because he’d misinterpreted her friendliness as interest, but…

Still, there had been some flirting, though. Definitely. Perhaps not because she was genuinely interested, but it wasn’t delusional to think that there had been some flirting. Right? There had to have been, because he wouldn’t have started it. He would only have flirted _back_. And he had been clumsy about it, sure, but certainly not more clumsy than her when she not-so-sneakily tried to figure out whether he was single. If he wasn’t misreading her completely, of course.

There was something about driving that soothed him. He might get into his car with a head full of worries, but after a few minutes of the engine’s humming and the radio crackling, those busy thoughts just faded away. Sometimes, with his head clear of the very busiest thoughts, there would be room for something else to surface. One of the quieter thoughts, or sneakier ones. Ones that were hiding out for some reason, probably for his own good. He would remember he needed to buy kitchen towels, or reply to an e-mail, or he would remember something someone once said that didn’t strike him as interesting when he heard it, but echoed back and struck a chord.

On this occasion, it wasn’t something someone said. It was a look. An end to a sentence he assumed would forever be unfinished. When the girl described him as _‘very’_ and nothing else that day, she didn’t finish her sentence with a word, but she sure as hell had looked him up and down real quick. He thought about what that could mean.

And he nearly rear-ended a Volvo at the lights.

…

Gold went back on Saturday in the early afternoon, and for the first time, he didn’t find the store completely empty. The music was louder, and there was even less room to move now with little groups of teenagers over here, and a handful of obviously uncomfortable parents over there, and the girl had her hands full at the register. She hadn't noticed him this time, busy as she was. Some gangly young man with a ridiculous haircut who looked about the same age as his boy bumped into him as he passed, and neglected to apologize. Gold tightened his grip on his cane and clenched his jaw. God, this was intolerable. As soon as someone left, someone else came in, and it didn’t look like it would quieten down any time soon. He should have known.

And now he wouldn’t be able to talk to her. She wouldn’t be able to help. Gold considered walking back out and coming back some other time, but what if she’d spotted him already? What would that look like? And if he returned that CD now and went home with nothing, the cycle would be broken. The next time he went back, he would have nothing to return. He probably didn’t have to, because she’d agreed to keep looking with him, but it sure was nice to have a proper excuse in addition to that. So he needed something. Anything. There was a large group of teenagers in front of the CD section, so that wasn’t an option. Gold grabbed the nearest, simplest, somewhat functional thing, which happened to be a mug, and joined the queue. 

Poor, beleaguered girl still made it a point to smile even at the rude ones or the ones who didn't even make eye contact. The queue moved along at a decent pace, and after a few minutes of queueing, when the boy with the green hair in front of him had left with his small stack of CDs, and she finally noticed him, her smile was different somehow. Brighter. He hoped.

“Hi! I didn’t expect you! Thought you only did mornings! Lie in on the weekends?”

“Ha, no. Well, yes, a little. I was going to come back on Monday, but I was in the neighborhood.” Small fib, there, but negligible. Wouldn’t tip the scales in the end, he didn’t think. Gold handed her the CD and the receipt, and she gave him a compassionate, adorable lopsided smile.

“Aw. No good?”

“Loves it, but he bought it a year ago.”

“Really?” she gasped, slapping her palms down on the counter. “So close! I’d help you pick out something else, but I’m swamped at the moment.”

“I understand,” said Gold, handing her back failed attempt number two, and ah yes, he’d nearly forgotten: his (probably unnecessary) ticket back. He placed the mug on the counter and slid it towards her.

She raised an eyebrow. “You want to buy this?”

“Yeah.”

“He’s a fan of Happy Bunny, is he?”

“What?”

She looked puzzled, and so did he, but then she took the mug from him anyway. She twisted it around and held it up, and it was only then that Gold noticed it wasn’t solid black, like he thought it was when he had picked the thing from a shelf at random. There was a cartoon bunny on it, and he couldn’t quite read the quote underneath, but he didn’t have to. The girl read it for him.

“ _I’ll be nicer when you’re smarter._ ”

There was barely concealed laughter in her voice, and her lips were dying to twist into a grin. He knew she wasn’t laughing at that line - who would? She was onto him. Oh, God.

Gold just put on a smile and hoped it didn’t look too nervous. “Yes. Right up his alley.”

“Alright, then!” she sang. “If you’re sure!”

“I’m sure.”

Yes. She was on to him, but she was smiling about it, and that was good. He would rather she laugh at his childish attempt to ensure they would see each other again than look uncomfortable with it.

“Okay, then that’ll be - Oh!”

Suddenly, and he had no idea how, the thing slipped out of her hands and onto the counter with a heavy hollow sound and a _crack_. Gold could see a white and black piece fly away and disappear behind the counter.

Chipped.

“Oh my God!” she gasped, her hands hovering in the air uselessly, frozen in shock. “I-I’m so sorry!”

Fuck. He couldn’t return that now, could he? There went his excuse, and there was that guilty look of hers again, making him feel almost queasy.

“No matter. We like our mugs chipped in our house,” he tried to assure her, placing the damned thing upright again. “Gives it a bit of character.”

Big, almost watery eyes darted helplessly from the mug to his face, and his heart was melting into a useless puddle of compassion and fondness. He wondered if anyone had ever had the heart to say no to this girl, and if so, fucking _how?_

“Please, pick another one. I can’t let you pay for this.”

“I quite like this one,” he replied, taking out his wallet. “I promise you, I couldn’t care less that it’s chipped.”

Besides, it was the only one left.

“But -”

“I don’t mean to rush you, dearie, but the queue is getting long,” he cut in with a smile, nodding towards the boy next to him, staring fixedly at his phone and tapping his foot to the music.

That seemed to do the trick. The boy didn’t seem to be in a hurry, but the people behind him were, and she knew that. The girl sighed and put his purchase in a little plastic bag. “I feel terrible about this,” she said softly, shaking her head.

“Please don’t. I don’t care, honestly.”

He paid, she looked guilt-ridden, his knees were getting wobbly. He needed to get out of there before those sad eyes and that pouting lip made him confess to only wanting to buy the bloody thing so he wouldn’t technically be stalking her the next time he paid her a visit.

“Thank you,” he said, taking the plastic bag from her and hoping his smile would put her at ease. The thought that she might still be fretting about this when he walked out of that store was unbearable.

“Wait.”

Gold turned around. The boy next in line hadn’t looked up from his phone yet, so there was still room at the counter for him.

“Yes?”

“Mornings are never this busy!” she said, smiling through her guilt, poor thing. “It’s usually just me.”

“Oh. Alright.” Oh indeed. “I, uh. I might drop by Monday morning, then.”

“Can’t wait.”

Just at the exit, when he looked over his shoulder, she was ringing up a purchase for the boy with invisible strings attaching his eyes to his phone, and his heart skipped a beat when at that exact same moment, she looked up from the register and smiled at him.

In his car, thoughts of her wouldn’t die down completely. Thoughts of the words she’d said, the things he had wanted to say to her that he didn’t have a chance to, lost definition and became one great big indivisible mass, but they didn’t blur into nothingness. It was a mood. She was a mood. Nameless and impossible to pin down.

He managed to avoid nearly crashing into anyone at the lights this time, but he did fail to notice the light had turned green until the car behind him honked sharply.

It was just that there were flowers blooming by the side of the road. Just some dandelions. And well, he was just thinking that if people were butterflies, she would be the jewel of anyone’s collection, with great big wings of iridescent blue to match her eyes.

Unfortunately, in this comparison, Gold had no other role to play but that of the creep who would quite like to trap her in a killing jar with some ethyl acetate, and put her in a little glass box on his desk to admire, which was awful. So he endeavored to forget about flowers, and butterflies, and ethyl acetate, but still - he couldn’t help but wonder… Was she looking to flutter into his net?


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr Gold returns to Hot Topic for yet another joint attempt at finding the perfect peace offering for his son. And also a name, and some flirting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your super kind comments and kudos. <3
> 
> I am absolutely dreadful at sticking to a predetermined max word count and equally atrocious at estimating how many chapters something is going to be. There will be a third and final chapter, and it will be shorter. (I think. Oh God. Every time.)

Gold didn’t see much of Neal that weekend. He only came out of his room for lunch and dinner, snacks and juice. So food, really. That was the way to lure him out for a few minutes. Like a reclusive forest creature with a sweet tooth. They had restored a certain level of civility, so that going about business at home didn’t feel so much like traversing a minefield. Everything (school, TV, the book he was reading, dinner, his comics) was still just _‘Fine’_ , but he’d stopped throwing the word at him like a dagger, at least. There was no more glaring, no more snarling. There was eye-rolling and sighing, though, but that was par for the course, and actually a rather delightful return to normalcy.

Almost.

Because with the anger having ebbed away, all that was left was a certain sadness that Gold felt helpless to fix. Perhaps something had gone wrong with the girl, or there might have been trouble at school; he truly had no idea, because when he asked if there was something he would like to talk about, the answer was always, invariably, emphatically: _No_.

Monday morning, Neal rushed out of the front door with his phone firmly stuck to his ear, mumbling something about listening to Suzy last night - whoever that was - and bestowing him with a civil nod in passing. At least he was talking to _someone_. After that, Gold puttered about the house for another hour before he got into his car and under a clear sky drove right past his own shop, straight to the mall.

It wasn’t as if he was missing out on a boatload of customers in his own shop every morning, anyway. Most people strolled in in the early afternoon. A few mornings each year, he would find a red-eyed, melancholy individual on his doorstep with a box full of things belonging to, he assumed, an ex-lover or a deceased family member. He never asked, and they never told, but he knew that in all likelihood, they hadn’t slept much, if at all. They were never much in the mood for bartering, which took the fun out of it somewhat, but they always walked out with their backs a little straighter. He turned emotional baggage into gold.

He had had a good night’s sleep, and he wasn’t red-eyed in the slightest, nor had he recently lost a lover or a family member, but his son did occasionally look like a corpse, and his reasons for showing up on the yet nameless girl’s proverbial doorstep weren’t entirely unmotivated by his emotions, either.

He couldn’t see the girl anywhere. Not by the register. Not stocking the shelves anywhere. He figured she must have gone into the room beyond that door behind the counter for a moment, and decided to just wait. No other customers, either. Outside, a few white-haired retirees shuffled about from store to store, skipping this one without a second thought. Other than that, there were a few women pushing prams, chatting animatedly, but that was it.

Gold headed towards the posters in the back. Easiest way to look busy, he supposed, and perhaps he’d recognize something from the few glimpses of Neal’s room he got these days. Win win. He’d barely flipped three frames ahead when her voice made him jump and accidentally flip right back to the first frame. It made a frightful racket.

“Looking for someone?”

He turned around and there she was, grinning and holding back laughter at his obvious shock. “W-What?” Jesus Christ, he ought to tie a little bell on that choker of hers. Sort of looked like a collar, anyway.

“Or something?” she said, nodding towards the posters, her grin only getting bigger and bigger. Oh, that was clever.

“Ah, no. No-one. Nothing in particular. Just thought that maybe I might recognize something.”

“Ooh, that’s a good idea! Shall I go through them with you?”

“If you’re not too busy.”

“Not at all.”

Right. That was what she’d said that Saturday. Never busy in the morning. Usually just her. That was why he was here. The girl stood right next to him and looked on as he turned the frames a little slower than was strictly necessary. And oh, look. A poster of that first complete disaster. Evanescence, was it? Maybe he ought to buy it and threaten to hang it in the living room window unless Neal told him just what had gotten him so down lately. Apart from his ill-timed, unannounced visit to his room slash love nest, of course. He needn’t remind him of that.

“So he’s still not giving you any hints, huh?”

“No,” Gold sighed, shaking his head. “He's still too upset. Not sure if it’s because of what I did, or it’s something else at this point, but it doesn’t really matter. He’s not ready to tell me yet.”

He really did get a little talkative around her. She made him want to draw her into his life just a bit. He wanted her to do the same.

“And a gift wouldn’t hurt, in the mean time. Right?”

“Right,” he agreed, smiling.

“We’ll find something.”

He almost believed it when she said it like that, smiling, tilting her head to the side just a touch. Turning the large frames one by one, recognizing absolutely nothing, Gold dared glance over once or twice, just to see what she was wearing today. Tartan pleated skirt. Should he make a kilt joke? (No, of course not. He loathed kilt jokes. They were the bane of his existence in this country.) She wore black tights, boots that looked like they could kick his head in. A t-shirt with a simple skull and a heart on it. Lots of black rubber bracelets. Silver ones ones on her other wrist that jangled as she moved. And then that choker, a thin band of leather around her pale neck.

His heart stopped when _again_ she caught him staring. But again she didn’t seem to mind, smiling kindly, taking over for him and flipping to the next frame. The way their hands nearly touched, there, made him feel nervous and also a complete, hopeless idiot.

“Do you enjoy working here?” he asked quickly, wanting to justify his stare anyway. Just to be sure. Perhaps it was it was one of those questions that should have been preceded by another question, such as ‘Can I ask you a question?’ or ‘Am I about to overstep a boundary, here?’ but if it was, she didn’t show it. The girl smiled and shrugged.

“It’s alright. I can pick the music, and my coworkers are nice. I really I like it when it’s quiet. Like right now.”

“You don’t get bored when it’s slow?” he asked. _He_ never did, but then again, he was old.

Oh God. He was old.

“Not really. I daydream a lot, and I’ve got my notebook, so I can keep busy if I need to.” She was still smiling, and she’d actually flipped back a couple of frames, too. Neither of them had been looking, really. “But, uh, to be honest, I’m kind of getting over the look.”

“This isn’t your usual look?”

“No, it is! Well, it was! Still is, I guess, but I like to mix it up a little now. I get carded a lot more if I go out dressed like this.”

“You do?”

“Oh, yeah!” she said, nodding gravely. “I always keep my ID handy. It’s such a hassle.”

At least twenty-one, then. Okay. Good. Good start. Not the worst case scenario, but still not good enough. He still felt vaguely awful for staring.

“I can imagine,” he muttered. “Well, I can’t _really_ , looking like a dinosaur and all, but you know.”

She snorted and rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t card you, but you’re not a _dinosaur_.”

Gold knew that if he laughed, he would sound nervous, so he forced himself to just smile instead. Then came a few seconds of silence, in which they just stood and smiled rather awkwardly until the playlist moved on to the next song. It seemed to jog her out of the moment and back into the conversation.

“But yeah, this job was definitely perfect for me at first. No real dress code. Fit right in. Didn’t have to take out the nose piercing either.” She tapped the side of her nose where a little silver ring caught the dim light and reflected it.

“Oh, right.”

“Or the other one.”

“Ri- … Um.”

The girl giggled and opened her mouth wide, and “Oh!” he cried out in relief. There was a tiny little silver ball right in the middle of her tongue. _Well._

“Didn’t that hurt?” he asked, hoping he hadn’t cringed visibly.

She shrugged. “Course it did! But it was a good excuse to eat loads of ice cream for a few days.”

Stupid question, but what else was he supposed to say? A million other half-formed inappropriate thoughts swirled through his mind, and better the stupid question slipped out than any of those, right? She had made it truly impossible for him to sound intelligent at this point. Before that moment, he hadn’t even thought of her tongue _once_. He felt his face grow just a little warmer.

“So you’re supposed to eat ice cream after, are you?” he asked, tearing his eyes away from her pretty, slightly flushed face, back to the posters. “I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah, it helps with the swelling.”

“Oh, right. Of course. So… you’ve had that for a while?”

“Mhm! It’s been really good for my pens. I used to chew on them, but now I can just play with the piercing and keep my mouth busy that way.”

When he became aware that his own mouth had dropped open just a little bit, Gold snapped it back shut and smiled. “Oh. That’s good. For your pens.”

He could tell she wanted to laugh. Her shoulders shook just once, and she was grinning so brightly he thought his eyes might explode if she turned it up another notch.

“It’s really not that weird! Look,” she said, and she stuck out her tongue, pointed at the little stud and showed him how it was attached to a bar that went straight through the muscle and ended in another little ball. Gold nodded, wondering how long he was going to have to keep staring at her mouth and be expected to keep his composure at the same time.

“When you first get it done,” she explained, after she’d put her tongue safely back where it belonged, “you need a longer barbell, cause of the swelling. Makes it really weird to talk and eat. And kiss. Not that you should be doing that so soon after, anyway.”

Completely unnecessary to mention kissing. Unnecessary and almost cruel, he would say, and it seemed she knew that, smirking as she was.

“That’s… good to know. About the swelling. In case Neal ever wants one.”

Over his dead body. He’d just have to put the information in his will, slightly adapted, of course: _By the way, son, if you do get your tongue pierced, it will swell up to the size of a small guinea pig._ Wouldn’t mention the ice cream, naturally.

“Neal?” she asked, tilting her head to the side quizzically.

“My son.”

“Oh!”

God. She knew his name, she knew his son’s, and he couldn’t bring himself to ask hers. It was too late in the game for that. Perhaps someone who was a little less focused on her mouth, now, could just man up and ask, but not him. Not now.

“What were we talking about?” she laughed, cocking her head to the side and crinkling her nose. _Definitely not that present for my son._ He swallowed a lump in his throat. Oh, he was in so much trouble.

“I asked whether you liked working here, and you said the lack of dress code was a perk.”

“Oh, right! Yeah, definitely a perk. I can dye my hair whatever color I like, too.”

“I like the blue,” he said softly, glancing at the streak of dyed blue in her hair.

Her eyes grew a little wider, her smile too. “Yeah?” She reached up and touched that bit of her hair absently. “I used to dye it completely blue.”

“Completely? Really?”

“Yeah!”

“I can’t really picture that, for some reason.”

Her eyes grew wide and her lips parted in an _oh_ shape. A lightbulb up above her head wouldn’t have looked out of place at all.

“Hold on!”

She darted over to the counter and Gold had absolutely no idea what she was up to: She leaned over the counter, the very tips of her feet _just_ hovering above the floor, tempting gravity. Her skirt rode up just a little bit, revealing more of her black tights, and after a bit of wriggling and some completely innocent sounds he would do well to forget right that instant but knew he never would, the girl pulled out that notebook of hers. Ah. He averted his gaze before she turned around and noticed him staring, and then there she came again, standing close, opening the notebook from the back and holding it up in front of him to tap her finger against one of the pictures stuck to the inside.

It was lovingly glued almost but not quite level to the upper edge of the back cover. It must have been printed out from her computer when the ink levels were low, but he could still make it out. The first thing he noticed was the sea of blue atop her head, wrangled up into an unruly bun. The second thing he noticed was the spiked choker on her neck. The third and final thing he noticed before the girl figured he’d seen enough and closed the book again was a grinning man with his arm around her. He was handsome, and he was definitely, definitely younger than him.

 _‘Don’t,’_ he told himself. It was just a picture. She was showing him her hair, not the man with his arm around her.

“That's a lot of blue.”

She laughed. “Well, it was a lot of _work_. And all that bleaching was ruining my hair, so I decided to stop.”

“Mostly,” he said, staring at the bit of blue still in her hair.

“Yeah,” agreed the girl, smiling broad, pulling her faintly curling hair over her shoulder. It looked very soft. “Mostly.”

She made her way back to the counter, and she still didn’t seem to want to bother walking around it like a sensible person would. She leaned over again, stretching to reach, and oh, but it was very, very tempting to walk up behind her and put his hands on her hips to steady her. What if she tumbled over and fell?

“Can I ask what it is you do?” she asked as she bounced her way back to him, unharmed.

The fact that she wanted to know at all made him smile. “I own a pawn shop,” he replied.

She quirked an eyebrow and gave him the strangest look. “ _You_ own a pawn shop?”

“Oh, not the kind you'd go to trade your television for crack money!” he clarified. “It’s not that kind of establishment.”

“Oh!” she laughed. “Yeah, I was picturing the wrong kind, then.”

“It's sort of an antiques business as well,” he continued.

“Ooh. I see. So... Rare violins for high grade cocaine money, then?” she teased.

“It’s possible. I don't ask questions.”

The girl giggled, and he was steadily getting addicted to the sound and the fluttery feeling he got every time he realized that he had been responsible for it.

“You must have some strange opening hours, though,” she mused, blindly flipping forward another frame. “Or don't you work in the actual store?”

“Oh, you mean because I’m here in the mornings?”

“Yeah.”

“No, I do work there. It’s just me. I just, uh. There’s barely any footfall this early in the morning, anyway.”

“Right, yeah, of course,” she hurried, nodding seriously, wrestling a smile. “Must be nice. Being your own boss.”

“Couldn’t picture myself doing anything else.”

Her smile turned distant, almost a little sad. She finally broke eye contact to stare down at the posters, and with a little cough, Gold decided to do the same. Slowly, she flipped to the next frame. A skeleton on a strangely shaped cliff, posing in front of a big, yellow moon, stared back at him. He wondered why she’d gone quiet all of the sudden and hoped he hadn’t said anything to upset her.

“This isn't something I want to do forever,” said the girl quietly, a hint of fragility in her voice. “I can’t picture myself doing this much longer, to be honest. I don’t mind working here, but I just feel like I’m too old for this.”

He glanced up at her. She looked a little embarrassed, her cheeks pink and her eyebrows knitted together close.

“Do you have anything lined up?”

“No,” she said. She shook her head and blindly turned another frame, affording it only a brief glance. Gold didn’t even bother. He needed to see her react to his questions so that he could fall way, way back the second he spotted the tiniest sign of discomfort on her face. He wasn’t sure whether this was normal conversation, or whether it was just him being nosy and her being polite.

“Anything you want to do?”

“I’m already doing it!” she said, her face lighting up with a beautiful smile. “Well, kind of. I write book reviews.”

“Oh!”

“Online.”

“Paid work?”

“No,” she sighed, shaking her head. “It’s just a blog. But the ad revenue covered the hosting costs, once! And then it didn’t anymore, so I switched to a regular blogging site.”

She wrote. Of course. That explained the notebook.

“But you enjoy it?”

“Oh, yes! It’d be neat if I could make a little money with it, but…” She paused to give him an endearing smile. “But I’d be alright just doing it for a hobby. It’s fun. Wouldn’t be doing it if it wasn’t.”

He knew that it was probably his little infatuation with her clouding his judgement, but he would still bet a great deal of money on her being really quite good. She seemed clever, and strangely intuitive, and alright; he would be kidding himself if he said hadn’t put on his rose-tinted glasses the moment he walked into her shop, but still. He would bet his cane on it, and more. Was there nothing he could do for her? Did he not know anyone who could -

“Listen to me whining away!” she sighed dramatically, throwing up her hands. “We’re trying to find something for your son and I’m just going on about me.”

Well, yes, they were trying to find something for his son, but he was also trying to get to know her. Anything about her. If not her name or her age, then anything else. Anything.

“You’re not whining,” he tried to assure her. “And I _did_ ask.”

They spent another strange few seconds staring and smiling at each other, and Gold felt himself melt in her gaze again, and felt it keenly. It was a slow process, but it was happening for sure, and if the warmth melted his backbone like it felt it would, then he might say something stupid and ruin everything before he even had a chance to… He didn’t know what. Ask her out? Kiss her? No, too bold. Both of those options. Much too bold for him. Couldn’t bloody well kiss a girl while she was trying to do her job, could he?

“So, when you were here Saturday,” she said, gently pulling them away from the moment and into the next, “you said he liked the CD we picked, right?”

“Yeah. Said he doesn’t want any of the others, though.”

“Course not,” she muttered, rolling her eyes playfully. “That would be too easy, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, it would,” he laughed. “He said it was an exception, so now I think perhaps even 1994 is too recent.”

The girl cast her eyes up at the ceiling, puffed up her cheeks and sighed. “If even that’s too recent, then I’d say he might be into punk, but you probably would have noticed, right?”

“Right.”

“Then what about early eighties goth, maybe? Post punk? D’you think he might be into that?”

That was it. That was exactly it. It hit him so suddenly and with such a force it almost made him stagger. Managing to keep the outward expression of his complete shock to wide eyes, a tight grip on his cane, and perhaps an embarrassing little gasp (he hoped not), Gold whispered, “Siouxsie. Not Suzy.”

The girl squinted at him and tilted her head like he was a puzzle to solve, or a confounding piece of abstract art. “What was that?”

Oh, it made so much sense. The weeping guitars and the plaintive singing he caught an earful of every time the boy snuck out of his room and into the kitchen for a snack and left his bedroom door open should have been obvious. And he wasn’t forgetting to comb his hair; it was aspiring to become Robert Smith’s, and that stuff on the bathroom mirror must have been hairspray all along. Christ.

“Oh, God,” he groaned. “Yeah, that’s it. Siouxsie and the Banshees. He was talking to someone on the phone this morning. I thought he meant…”

She gasped, her bright blue eyes snapping wide open. “So, post punk? Are you sure?”

“I think so.”

“ _That_ kind of goth!”

“There’s more than one? Jesus Christ.”

Gold ran his fingers through his hair, both relieved and completely annoyed with himself for missing the obvious. Somehow, those conflicting emotions manifested themselves in the form of a giant grin he couldn’t even begin to try and contain. That was it. They’d pinned the boy down. He’d tried his very best to outwit him, and he had managed to do it for a very long time, but now Gold had sniffed him out. The hunt was nearly over.

“You won’t find what you need, here.”

It was _over._ Gone was his grin. His stomach turned into a stone. His arm flopped limply to the side. He nearly dropped his cane. The girl’s smile was lopsided, her brow furrowed.

“No?” he asked, cursing his mouth for having dried up for absolutely no good reason. His mind was racing, churning out dumb idea after dumb idea. Take it back. Tell her he’d misheard after all. Not Siouxsie. Definitely Suzy. Ask for more Happy Bunny merchandise. Make up another child with a slightly different, more accessible taste in depressing music. Kiss her.

She shook her head. “We might have one or two things, but there’s a good chance he already has those. You could risk it, but…”

“No, you’re right,” he sighed. “He’d be upset if I came home with something he already bought. Again.”

“Hey, but it’s not all bad!” she sang. “I think I might know someone who could help. Come on.”

Someone else? But… He didn’t want someone else’s help. He wanted hers. Gold followed sheepishly as she walked to the counter. She went around this time, thank God, and out came the notebook yet again. Gold watched as she scribbled something down on an empty page and tore it out.

“Here,” she said, handing the piece of paper to him, tossing the notebook back on the counter. It was an address. “A friend of mine owns a little store there, right in the middle of town.”

“And you think I could find something for Neal, there?”

“I think so! I haven’t been to his shop in a while, but last time I was there he had weird skull shaped candles and stuffed crows and everything. Things like that. He has a little music section in the back, too, and I know for a fact he’s into Siouxsie and the Banshees and that kind of stuff.”

He took a little too long to react, evidently, because she added, “He’s a nice guy! He likes to dress a bit weird and he’s a bit much for some people, but he’s sweet, really. I’ll call and tell him you might pop by and get him up to speed. He’d love to help you out, I’m sure.”

But what about her? What excuse did he have, now? God, and he was being ridiculous. This was a good thing. He’d come here for help, and he was getting it. Mission accomplished, almost. So why did he feel so miserable?

He knew why.

Gold forced a smile gave her a grateful nod. “Thank you,” he said, slipping the piece of paper in his pocket. “I might head over there this week, then.”

“That’s great! Tell him I sent you.”

Tell him _who_ sent him? Why was he nodding? Why was he still not asking her name? This was the perfect opportunity, but ah, he blinked, and the moment was gone again, just like that. The pair of them had now silently agreed that there was nothing here for him. Except her. The girl with the blue eyes and the notebook, writing about books when business was slow. And still, he wanted to do something for her. The idea had started forming when she mentioned her writing, and now it had grown into words.

“Before I go -”

“Yes?” she asked, her head snapping back up, her bright blue eyes flitting over his features with an intensity that made him trip over the first word of his sentence.

“S-Since you’ve gone above and beyond to help me out,” he started, ignoring the way she swatted his praise out of the air like a huge, slow fly, “I know the editor of the local newspaper in Storybrooke. You’ve heard of it?”

“The town, yeah! I live nearby. Can’t say I’ve ever read the paper, though.”

“Well, it’s a dreadfully boring rag, and it could do with some young talent. I could call him up. Perhaps a regular book review -”

She’d been following attentively, her eyes slightly narrowed in concentration, but suddenly they snapped wide open and she held up her hands, shook her head and hurriedly told him, “Oh, no! You don’t have to do that! I can’t ask you to do that!”

“You’re not asking. I’m offering.”

“Look,” she sighed, still shaking her head. The heaviness in his stomach had returned, and he knew that he had gone too far. Too obvious. Too desperate to mean something to her now that they had discovered that he really had no business, here. “Thank you. You’re so sweet to offer, but, well, you look like an important man, and I don’t want you pulling any strings for me when you don’t even know if I’m any good.”

Gold raised an eyebrow and afforded himself a long look at her face, slowly getting pink, chin tilted up in determination. Important… That was positive, right? Yes. He decided it was.

“ _Are_ you any good?”

“I’m great!” she said, jutting out her chin even more. Gold couldn’t help his smile, then. Just when he thought he couldn’t get any more fond of her.

“And if I believe you? What’s the problem, then? It’s not the New York Times, but it’d be good to be printed, wouldn’t it?”

She opened her mouth for another swift counterargument, but there came none. Instead she stared for a moment, then sighed and asked him, “He doesn’t owe you a ton of money or anything, does he?”

“No!” A favor? Yes. But she didn’t ask, so he didn’t say. “Why would you think that?” he asked, trying his best to look ever so slightly insulted despite knowing fully well that he didn’t exactly style himself to look friendly and approachable. (Hadn’t had much effect on this girl, though, had it?)

She shrugged and bit down on a little smile. “Well, you know. A charming, mysterious man in expensive dark suits with _connections_. Little bit shady, that’s all.”

“Shady?” he gasped dramatically, making her laugh.

The touch of pink on her cheeks was spreading, now, and this was starting to drive him completely insane. Anywhere else, literally _anywhere_ else Gold would have defined what they’d been up to as flirting, clear as day. The sweet, slightly nervous tone of her voice, her ever present grin, her eyes fluttering all over his face, the teasing remarks. He needed to see her out of this store, away from this dreadful building, see what she did, then. But to do that and still be able to live with himself, he had to ask her out or wait for her to get off work and start up a conversation then, and the latter would be stalking. Perhaps not according to the criminal code, but definitely in his own mind.

“I mean, I like it!” she added quickly. “The suit. And the mystery. And you are _very_ charming, but ah… I’d still feel bad about letting you do this for me. Influencing someone to -”

“I’m not in the bloody mafia!” he laughed.

She giggled and buried her red face in her hands. “No! I didn’t mean it like that!” she cried, the sounds muffled behind her hands. And then she peeked between her fingers, a sliver of wet blue caught his gaze and made the very center of his chest feel unbearably warm. Her hands fell away. She was smiling. “Well I kind of did, but it doesn’t even matter if you are -”

“I’m definitely not,” he said fondly, shaking his head.

“Okay, but I’m saying it doesn’t matter! You know the guy. Maybe you’re friends. And if you tell him to give me a job -”

“I’d just tell him to give your blog a read, that’s all.”

“That’s what you’d tell him, but would that really be what he would hear?” she asked, a single eyebrow raised skeptically. She pursed her lips and looked as serious as he had ever seen her. Oh, she was clever.

“I get it,” he muttered with a smirk and a little shrug. “I give off crime lord vibes.”

“No, no!” she laughed. “What I’m trying to say is that I’d never be sure if I got the job because I was _good_.”

“Ah, but you _know_ you’re good. Great, you said. Isn’t that all that matters?”

“Well, yes, but… But I’d still feel like… Like I’d… I…”

She wasn’t finding her words - which was unfortunate for a writer - and she was trying to compensate with helpless gestures, her little hands with her glossy black fingernails waving through the air, trying to draw her words out. Gold took pity.

“Look,” he sighed. “I understand. I’ll just give you his number and e-mail address, then. You can do what you want with it. And if you like, if you decide to contact him, you can mention me by name. I promise I don’t have his family locked in a basement somewhere.”

Ah, but he couldn’t resist wiggling his eyebrow as he said that last bit. She giggled, rolled her eyes, and then crossed her arms and looked up at the ceiling again to mull it over. While she was distracted, he looked over his shoulder and glared at someone who had been standing near the entrance looking annoyingly close to walking in.

“Only if you like my writing.”

The man near the entrance walked away, and Gold looked back at the girl. Had he heard her right? She snatched her notebook from the counter again and opened it to the page she’d torn a corner from earlier. She handed him the worn looking hardbound thing, and he felt strangely privileged.

“This is what I've been working on. Just read from here,” she said, pointing at the beginning of the page. “I’ve only got a few bits and some bullet points so far, and it’s not in the right order. It’s just notes, but… It’ll give you an idea. The title’s in the upper right corner. I don’t know if you’ve read it.”

“Can’t say I have.”

The title didn’t sound familiar at all. Gold looked from the two pages in front of him, back at her pretty face. She was chewing her lip again, her eyes were the size of saucers, and he wasn’t sure whether she looked worried or excited.

He leaned back against the counter, and leaned his cane against it too so that he could hold the book with both hands. The girl joined him there, closer than she’d ever been, folding her hands in front of her, then changing her mind and worrying the hem of her shirt with her dainty fingers instead.

“Can you read my handwriting?” she asked, probably wondering why he was staring at her, and not her words.

Gold nodded and looked back down. Her handwriting was round, soft, and pleasant to read. Not too small, not too big. Hearts or flowers or smiley faces dotting the i's would not have looked out of place. That is, if you disregarded the contents entirely.

Because as he read her little review, Gold discovered to his utter delight that there was nary a soft word to be found.

_The most recent installment in a series of formulaic action driven crime novels, in that this novel is the flashy car, and the action drives the novel straight into a ditch with an unimpressive bang and a sizzle. It is a literary hit and run, somehow both ~~perpa~~ perpetrator and victim. A plot twist that twists and twists until its neck breaks and leaves a corpse of a story that needs an epitaph, not an epilogue. He's included one, and it reads like the last party guest sounds at 3:30 in the morning when you're politely trying to get them to ~~fuck off~~ scram._

  * _characters so flat he could have slipped them under my front door instead_
  * _literally no one to root for_
  * _except for them to die but that doesn’t count cause we’re not supposed to_
  * _five page backstory info dump (p112-117), telling and not showing_
  * _1 female character, 9 lines of dialogue (p32, p76-77, p355-358)_
  * _stilted everything_
  * _seriously gave the protagonist’s cars more character than the protagonist_
  * _one office job, three cars?_
  * _the phallic symbolism: on purpose or should someone page Dr Freud?_



That was a lot of fury for someone about yea high with a smile stuck on her face ninety-nine percent of the time. It delighted him more than it should have, the discovery of that little sharp edge to her softness. Gold had no idea when he had started to smile, let alone smirk, but there he was, and there _she_ was, staring up at him, lip gone between her teeth again, her brow raised in hopeful expectation.

“What did this author do to earn your wrath?” he asked with a quirked eyebrow, relishing her shy little giggle as she looked down at her hands for a moment and shrugged.

“Well, the book really is that bad,” she explained. “I prefer to write about good books, but hatchet jobs get more hits.”

“Oh, you love it, really” he teased in a low growl, eliciting another giggle. “It’s alright. You can admit it. I won't judge.”

“Well, it _can_ be cathartic,” she mock whispered.

“That's what I thought.”

He loved it when she tried not to smile. She was terrible at it.

“I know it wasn’t much, but what do you think? You can be honest.”

“I love it. I want this in my morning paper.”

“You mean it?”

“I really do, love.” He had learned to swallow the endearments in this country to avoid confusion, but she made it very difficult. She didn’t seem fazed, anyway. It was alright.

“Thank you,” she said softly, brushing off some invisible dust from the front cover, smiling. “And I’m sorry if I came off as ungrateful for not accepting your help right away, but…”

“It’s alright,” he cut in. “I understand. Now, if you give me a pen, I’ll give you his contact details. We did have a deal.”

She gave him another one of those delightful attempts at a non-smile, her wriggling lips pressed together tight and still somehow smiling. “We did.”

She handed him the same pen she’d used earlier, and pointed at a spot somewhere on the page next to her review notes. Gold quickly copied Sidney’s phone number from his cellphone and added the man’s e-mail address.

“There,” he said, handing her her pen back. “I hope you contact him. I really do.”

“Thank you,” the girl replied. “I might.”

“Might? Oh, come on!”

“The deal was I’d let you give me his contact details! I never said I’d actually contact him!”

Gold laughed and squinted at her. “Fine. Can’t argue with that.”

She looked very pleased with herself, and she didn’t even know about his law degree. But when her smirk faded and loud chattering voices of two passersby jolted them out of the moment, Gold’s heart began to feel very heavy again, weighing him down, making it feel as if he was sinking fast and there was nothing for him to hold on to as he realized that his time with this girl was coming to an end. No more flirting. No more looks. No more anxiously waiting in vain for their fingers to brush, or her arm to bump into his.

“Hey, um. If you wanna read more, you can just google ‘Belle’s Book Nook’ and hopefully I’m somewhere on the first page.”

“Belle’s - … Belle?”

That was the second time she’d looked at him like he was an optical illusion that day, head turned like a quizzical puppy, lips slightly parted, but it didn’t last very long this time. One second, two, three, and a fourth, and then her eyes sprung wide open and her jaw dropped, and “Oh!” she gasped. “I never told you my name?”

“No. You didn’t,” he laughed, shaking his head. What a relief to know she hadn’t been keeping it from him on purpose. “But it’s very nice to meet you, Belle.”

“Likewise, Mr Gold,” she replied, fingers grabbing the edge of her skirt for a little curtsey that made him want to laugh again. He wondered how she made it through her shifts without being snatched up and kidnapped by individuals even more susceptible to her charms than he was. It would be so _easy_ just to grab her by the waist and sling her over your shoulder. She probably wouldn’t even make a fuss if you told her you needed her help to reach something on a top shelf somewhere. Wouldn’t even need to lock her in the boot of your car, then.

Footsteps and a subtle cough tore his attention away from her. Ah. Another customer, invading their strange little bubble. A lost looking soul had wandered in and was now walking slowly, aimlessly between the shelves, glancing at the pair of them out of the corner of her eye.

“I suppose I’d better leave you to it, then,” he said, reluctantly. Gold was surprised at how effortless it sounded to his own ears, when it felt so much as if he had to drag the words out one by one.

“Unless you want to buy some more Happy Bunny merchandise,” she teased, her little grin luring out his own.

“No. We’re all good on that front.”

Unfortunately.

The woman who had walked in was clearly waiting for him to leave the girl - No, _Belle!_ She was waiting for him to leave Belle be so she could ask her help, and though it was tempting to be greedy, he supposed he had to be brave and head back to his own shop.

“Do go see my friend, though!” she hurried just as he made a move to walk away. “And tell him I said hi. It’s been a while.”

“Will do.”

“And if it doesn’t work out, you can come back and I’ll be happy to keep helping you!”

Gold turned back and caught her smiling, and it might have been wishful thinking, but he thought that she looked hopeful, somehow. He might have been projecting. In fact, that was probably the case. But still, her words made him feel warm again, made that heaviness in his chest disappear.

“I will.”

In his car, Gold was afraid to check the time and see just how long he’d stood there in that shop of hers because he knew the reality of time, if he caught a glimpse of it on the little clock on his dashboard, would clash with his experience of it, and leave him feeling even more useless and irrational than he already did. It felt like hours, but it wasn’t. And it went by too fast, but it didn’t. That was conflicting enough. He didn’t need to throw a measured certainty into that particular mix.

Her name was Belle. How perfect.

…

The address Belle had given him, it turned out, belonged to a dark house with a brick facade stained almost black by an endless procession of passing cars on a busy street. Stone steps led down to a heavy wooden door that creaked ominously as Gold pushed it open. A little bell overhead chimed pleasantly, which was sort of surprising. The first eight notes of Beethoven’s fifth would have been more appropriate, he felt. But he was absolutely not surprised by the darkness of the place. While his eyes adjusted to the dark, Gold blinked and tried not to bump into anything as he took a few tentative steps inside, his cane tapping hollow on the wooden floor.

He couldn’t really figure out what sort of shop it was supposed to _be_. At first glance, he could see stuffed wildlife, strange hats, scented candles, and a bookcase stuffed full of what looked like graphic novels. In the center of the room, on a low table in the middle of a worn persian rug, stood half a dozen plaster busts, yet more strange hats perched on each. All that was missing was a coffin up against a wall somewhere, and he might start to believe that this had all been a grand scheme to lure him straight into a millinery-obsessed vampire’s lair.

Gold heard movement coming from the rickety staircase against the wall behind the counter, and down came a man dressed like a time traveller who couldn’t bring himself to ditch the outfit he arrived in for something less conspicuous. Shiny leather shoes kicking up dust with every step, a dark frock coat, a waistcoat - a _cravat_ , for fuck’s sake! Where the bloody hell did he get a frock coat in this day and age? So far, the vampire theory still held up, if he ignored scientific fact and common sense.

“Hello there! I thought I heard the bell!”

There was something a little unsettling about his grin - perhaps the sheer speed of it, its readiness, the width across his tired but handsome face. But no. It was something else, and it didn’t take him very long to realize exactly what it was. He had something to compare it to: Belle's picture, with her dark blue hair and her arm around _him_ , it turned out. This was the man in the picture, and compared to the warmth of his smile in that little snapshot, this grin was but a mask.

With an elaborate bow the elegance of which Gold couldn't help but admire a touch, the man introduced himself. “Jefferson. Welcome to my humble little shop of horrors, if you will.”

Jefferson. A man Belle hadn’t seen in a while. A man who, therefore, was unlikely to be her boyfriend. Gold felt the corner of his mouth twitch up in a relieved smile, but decided to ignore that feeling in his belly for now. No need for it. Shop of horrors, eh? Gold gave the room another cursory look and didn't find anything that would qualify as a horror, although perhaps the stuffed fox dressed as a sailor on a shelf right behind him could have been considered a crime against nature.

Squinting at a stuffed seagull wearing a newsboy cap atop a bookcase, Gold absently muttered, “Belle said to tell you she sent me.”

“Aha!” Jefferson cried, his eyes suddenly wide.

The man crossed his arms over his chest, shifted his weight to one leg, put on a scrutinizing look and looked him up and down as if he were sizing him up for a sailor costume. Was he about to be knocked over the head and dragged into another room, to be disemboweled, skinned, stuffed and dressed up?

Gold was very close to coughing to remind the rude young man that staring was impolite, when suddenly he chuckled in a deep, meaningful voice: “Oh, Belle.”

What? Jefferson seemed to notice his confusion and quickly gave him a smile that wasn't quite so disconcerting as that grin that had sent a shiver down his spine before.

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr Gold.”

She had told him his name, then. Still. Felt odd.

“Likewise.” He supposed. If Belle liked him, well, he must have had his qualities. “She also said to give you her regards.”

“Aw,” he cooed, his grin now even more genuine. “I doubt she put it quite like that, but message received. Thank you very much. Been too long.”

The man liked to gesticulate and sway back and fro, left to right as he talked, and Belle’s voice sounded in the back of his mind: _Bit much for some people._ He could definitely see why.

“I like your suit,” he said with a serious nod, looking him up and down once more. “World needs more proper three piece suits if you ask me.”

Like his smile, this compliment actually felt genuine, and it shocked Gold into letting his guard down somewhat, to the point that he heard himself quietly reply, “I actually rather like yours. I wouldn't wear it for the world but…”

“Oh, yes, no, not this, not for you,” Jefferson laughed. “This wouldn't suit you. Something with a little more leather for you, I think.”

Gold raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“Oh don't give me that look,” Jefferson sang jovially, putting his hands on his hips. “You’re picturing the wrong kind of leather.”

“Yes, well,” he muttered, brow deeply creased, “I’m not here for me.”

“That’s right! Our mutual friend told me everything.”

“She’s been very helpful.”

“I bet.”

“What?”

“Nothing! Follow me!” he sang, coming around the counter. “Let’s get that son of yours some decent music. Belle told me we shouldn’t bother with anything released too long after his birth, correct?”

“Well, yes, I suppose. But I don’t know which albums he already has, and he’d hate it if I got him a duplicate.”

“Doesn’t matter. He won’t have anything on vinyl.”

Jefferson pushed a heavy looking red curtain out of the way, revealing the room behind it. With a sweeping gesture, he motioned for Gold to head on in first.

It was a long, narrow room. No wooden flooring here, just a worn bordeaux carpet over a concrete floor. Large wooden crates - ten of them at least - stuffed full of vinyl records, stood on mismatched tables lining the wall. Wide-eyed, slightly confused, Gold quietly remarked, “He doesn’t have a record player.”

“There’s a shop ten minutes from here, sells them fairly cheap. I’m sure you could get a used one somewhere, if money’s an issue.”

“It’s not.”

“That’s excellent news!” he said, flashing the ghost of that almost menacing grin of before.

“But do you really think he would like a record player? He’s sixteen! He got an iPod for his birthday last year, and he never leaves the house without that thing.”

“Oh, Mr Gold,” Jefferson laughed darkly. “I’m sure your house is connected to the electrical grid, and no doubt you’ve provided the boy with _illuminatory_ devices of the highest quality -” That wasn’t a word, surely! “- but if you tell me he doesn’t write maudlin poetry by candlelight, I will make you a hat right now and eat it.”

Gold always made sure to replace the batteries in the smoke detector in Neal’s room, first, and he had found a strange phrase in the search bar not one month ago ( _’Quill and inkwell under ten dollars’_ ), and so, “You may be on to something, there,” he admitted, mildly bemused by the man’s ability to empathize with his son, whom he had never met.

“I’m well aware. Your son and I have similar - and dare I say _excellent_ \- taste in music, my good man,” he said, slapping a hand on his shoulder amicably. “This won’t take too long. Here. Hold these.”

He began to hand him record after record, some of them dustier than others.

“Echo & the Bunnymen,” he said. “The Cure, obviously. A couple of Siouxsie and the Banshees. Joy Division, naturally. Bauhaus, yes, mustn’t forget Bauhaus. Ah, damn. Someone bought… No, here it is! And this. And this one. And he probably won’t have heard of them, but it’s right up his alley, so you better take this one, too. You’re Scottish, right?”

“Uh, yes.”

“You’ll have heard of The Jesus and Mary Chain, then,” he said, throwing one last record on top of the pile. Jefferson sighed, clapped the dust from his hands and turned to Gold with a great big grin. “That should do him nicely.”

After all that, Gold just stood there, holding a small stack of records to his chest, smacked right into an almost reverential silence. Jefferson was right. That didn’t take very long at all.

“What? You don’t have to buy them _all_ ,” he said, quirking an eyebrow. “Although my prices are fair, and I highly recommend that you do, to make up for buying him that Evanescence album.”

She had told him quite a lot, hadn’t she?

“No, it’s alright. These are fine. I just… I’m surprised he’d be into this. The memory’s a bit hazy, but I think I saw them play in a depressing pub basement something a little like this - no offense.”

“None taken.”

“You know, way back in the day, before anyone really cared. Just a ‘three songs per band, get off the stage before the crowd turns on you or get glassed’ kind of deal. They were out of their minds on something that turned me off drugs for good.”

Jefferson threw his head back and chuckled like the devil on a particularly cheerful day in hell, then put a hand on his shoulder and guided him back out of the little room. “You should tell him that some time. But not in that tone. Or with that look on your face. Tell him you were intrigued, even though it wasn’t your thing.”

“And the fact that they were strung out on speed?”

“Definitely _don’t_ -”

“Right, of course.”

“- forget to mention that.”

“Oh.”

Jefferson walked back behind the counter and began to ring up record after record. The total crept up slowly. Reasonably priced indeed. “Do you still have a record collection?” he asked him as he began to slide the records into a large plastic bag.

Gold nodded. “But nothing he’d like, I don’t think,” he muttered, trying to visualize the old suitcase that lay undisturbed up in his attic for years, collecting dust and taking up space.

“What?” he snorted. “Bee Gees? Earth, Wind and Fire?”

He narrowed his eyes at him. “Bowie.”

“Are you kidding me? That’s perfect! They all get into Bowie sooner or later, his type. Let him go through your collection, but only mention it as an afterthought. The record player and these -” He paused to pat the stack of records, now stacked neatly in a large black plastic bag, and then continued, “These are his and his alone. That’s important. Then, at some point, you mention there’s a box he can go through if he’s ever bored out of his skull.”

Gold only became aware that his mouth had dropped open and he must have looked a bit silly when Jefferson shrugged, chuckled and told him, “I know you’re dying to fall to your knees and thank me for the insight into the teenage proto-goth fan psyche, but there’s no need. I was happy to help.”

“I was just thinking,” Gold mused. “You’re not gonna have much trouble when you have your own weans, are you?”

“Assuming that means ‘children’, I’m not sure,” he said, shaking his head. “My little girl’s no trouble at all, yet, but she’s only six. Probably got another six years of nothing but tooth-rotting cuteness left before it all starts going wrong.”

“You have a daughter?”

It wasn’t that he looked too young, exactly, but he and Belle were friends, and _she_ definitely seemed too young to have friends with children. But that was a strange way to think, he realized. Gold took a large bill out of his wallet and placed it on the counter, but Jefferson hadn’t noticed. He had disappeared under the counter, muttering something about a picture.

It didn’t take too long before he resurfaced with a decorative gilt picture frame. He put it down on the counter and angled it towards Gold. In the picture, black and white, stood Jefferson, dressed to the nines and looking quite Victorian, holding the hand of a beaming little girl in a dress that made her look just as much an anachronism as her father.

“That’s my little Grace,” he sighed happily, his elbows on the counter and his face cupped in his hands. “And one day, she’ll want to stop wearing the dresses daddy makes her, and she won’t want to listen to Disintegration when I’m driving her home from school. She’ll want to buy her own CDs, all of it in the major key, probably. She won’t want to help daddy make spooky hats anymore, and I’m 90 percent sure she won’t want to be a taxidermist anymore, either.”

“Excuse me? Your six-year-old daughter wants to be a taxidermist?”

“Mm! Little hobby of mine,” he said, disappearing under the counter again for a moment. “I say hobby, because I try to sell them, but barely anyone ever buys these.”

“You’re an amateur taxidermist?”

“No,” he groaned, dragging something heavy onto the counter in front of them. It was a glass display. A raven dressed in a dapper little vest, wearing a top hat. “This is my hobby.”

Jesus Christ, yet another animal dressed better than the average man on the street. “ _You_ dress them up?”

“I make the clothes myself,” he replied with a proud grin that was actually rather endearing. “My little Grace helps. She sewed these buttons on, right here!” He tapped the glass somewhere close to the raven’s chest. “She’s quite good! I don’t suppose I can convince you to part my shop with one of these, today?”

“Not today, no,” Gold said, holding back a chuckle. “Not sure if it’d fit in with my decor.”

Yes, he definitely did see what Belle meant when she told him he could be a bit much for some people, but this man’s oddities were completely inoffensive. Charming, even, in a certain light.

“Fair enough,” he shrugged. Finally he noticed the money on the counter, and he went about getting his change. “Actually, before you go, can I ask you something? Father to father.”

Sliding his change over to him over the dark, worn wood, Jefferson looked ever so serious now.

“Uh. Alright.”

“My Grace’s asked me for a taxidermy handbook, but I’ve looked around for one, and they're all illustrated. I’m not sure if that's appropriate for a kid that young. Look.”

He hoisted a great big hardcover book up on the counter - what else had he hidden under there? - and dropped it in front of him, sending more dust particles dancing around the room. Gold opened book with its creaky spine and was immediately confronted with a cute, cuddly rodent of some sort relieved of its innards and splayed wide open. Gold raised his eyebrows.

“Well,” he said, pausing to clear his throat, turning a few more pages. “I don’t think it’d traumatize her beyond repair, but I think you might get some interesting calls from her teachers if she decides to do a book report on this.”

Jefferson exhaled loudly and half collapsed on the counter, resting his head on his folded arms. “Yeah, you're right. And I don’t need that. They already think I’m insane.”

The man sighed and looked completely drained for a brief moment. Just long enough for Gold to notice that he looked very pale, and very vulnerable, and suddenly he felt a little bad for describing him, even in the complete privacy of his own mind, as odd.

“Perhaps there’s a children’s guide to taxidermy,” he joked, just to try and lighten the mood.

Jefferson pushed himself up from the counter, mumbling, “No, no, no, no,” and shaking his head. He pushed the book aside, brow deeply creased with worry. “I asked the librarian just that, and he looked at me like I’d grown a second head right in front of his eyes. Thank you for the suggestion, though. Much appreciated. Is there anything else I can do for you? Directions to the music store?”

“No need. I know the one you’re thinking of. Thank you,” he said, grabbing his bag.

He was only two steps away from the counter when Jefferson’s voice stopped him in his tracks.

“She’s older than she looks!” he called out. “I’m only a year older than her, you know.”

And now his heart was beating quite fast.

“Who’s that, dearie?” he croaked as he turned around with as much of a smile as he could manage, considering the fact that he felt very much like a spy whose disguise had been snatched away.

“Belle,” Jefferson clarified. “I know she looks about twenty, and her outfits don’t help that impression much, but she’s older.”

“Why are you telling me this?” he asked quietly, his voice dry, his fingers tightening around the handle of his cane.

“Honestly? To get that guilty look off your face,” he lilted with a mysterious smile. “You’re killing me, man.”

Gold’s polite smile vanished without a trace. It was a good thing these two had lost touch, wasn’t it? Jefferson might have been on to him, but that didn’t mean he would communicate it back to her. Would he?

“How old are you?”

“She’s twenty-seven.”

Ah, fuck. Yes, definitely on to him. Inwardly, Gold cursed himself fiercely, feeling a certain heat crawl up his neck and his stomach begin to twist itself into an impossible knot. Outwardly, he just backed away to the door with a brave smile. But Jefferson was still staring at him, leaning over the counter now, watching him flee in slow motion with his tail between his legs.

“And she’d like to know how it went with your son.”

“Would she?”

“Of course. Oh, and please tell her I said hi back.”

Jefferson’s grin was very close to maniacal, now, and Gold wasn’t sure how to feel. On the one hand, he’d been grasping at straws trying to find an excuse to see her again ever since he left her store that last time, and this man had just reached out and given him something to hold on to.

On the other hand, it was still just bloody _straws._

Belle. Twenty-seven. Had some interesting friends. Might want to see him again. Might not. Didn’t matter. First things first: That final, perfect gift for his son. And only _then_ the inevitably embarrassing conclusion to his mini midlife crisis.


	3. III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bracing himself for another potential disaster, Mr Gold brings his final peace offering home to Neal. Will he report back to Belle? (... Yes. He will.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to write a thing. A simple thing. A 15k thing. In one chapter. Trying to do this has taught me that I can't do these two things in particular: 1) count, and 2) stop.
> 
> This third chapter wasn't so much an extra chapter as it was the second chapter that wasn't even _supposed_ to be a chapter split in two, because I'm terrible at estimating chapter lengths. The fourth chapter wasn't planned when I started writing this, but it is now. And some other stuff is, too. And I don't know whether to keep adding chapters to this story and inevitably bump the rating, or to make it into a series, but I'm going to have to pick something soon, because I kind of want to keep writing this.
> 
> But yes, lesson learned. 1/? from now on.
> 
> Thank you for your patience, comments, kudos and general loveliness. <3

“Neal?”

“In here.”

In the dining room, Neal was bent over what looked like homework but made him scowl like tax forms, or possibly something worse. Standing in the doorway with the plastic bag full of records in one hand and the cardboard box with the record player under his arm, Gold waited for his son to look up. When he did, he greeted him with a quick, civil nod that soon turned into an all but cartoonish double take - eyes the size of a barn owl’s, then suddenly small and sharp.

“Last try,” Gold quickly promised before the boy could start telling him off again. “Until your birthday, at least.”

Neal sighed. He dropped his pen to the table and buried his tired face in his hands, rubbing his eyes, sorely tempting Gold to tell him to mind his eyeliner. When he looked up again, he didn’t actually look like a raccoon, which was impressive.

“Dad…”

“I know, I know,” said Gold, moving closer to the table with a forced smile. He was in quite a bit of pain. Hauling everything out of the car and into the house wouldn’t have been a problem if he hadn’t almost tripped over his own feet in the process.

“Here.”

He held out the bag with the records in it for Neal to take, which he did, but with some delay and a distrustful look. If he hadn’t been so nervous for his son’s reaction, he probably would have found yet another woodland creature to liken him to. One that was skittish, but not as skittish as it was curious.

Neal peeked into the bag with another deep sigh. He scarcely dared breathe until suddenly, thankfully, the boy’s face went curiously blank. Gone was the scowl, and some of the tiredness, too. His hard stare softened and after a few tense seconds of silence, he slid the stack of records out of the bag. With his mouth still slightly, adorably open, he began to inspect each and every one of them. 

“Dad,” he almost whispered. “How did you…”

Oh, the relief. A weight off his shoulders he hadn’t even realized had been pinning him down so fiercely. It had been almost intolerable, in hindsight, and now it was gone. Just like that. Just from the tone of his son’s voice and the lines in his forehead smoothing out for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

“Just a semi-educated guess,” Gold replied with a shrug, trying not to appear smug, or worse: victorious. “Do you like them?”

“Yeah, but -”

His eyes had locked onto the box Gold had put on the table while he was busy getting the records out of the bag. “Is that a record player?”

“Oh, this?” he replied, patting the heavy box on the table. “Yeah. I’ve got an old one up in the attic, but this one’s much better. All new. And yours.”

Neal pushed his chair back and stood up slowly, almost dazed. He moved closer, glancing from the box to him and back again, a smile blooming on his face.

“This is too much.”

“It's really not. It's just good to see you smile.”

It really was, but he knew he mustn’t focus on his mood the past few days. That was in the past, now. He needed distracting, and this was doing the trick just fine. Not the time for a heart to heart.

“It has built in speakers,” Gold explained, “but if they’re a little tinny, we can go get you some external ones.”

Neal ran his hand over the box, his finger over the lines of text detailing the specs. “And a headphone jack,” he noticed.

“Course.” Gold nodded seriously. “Very important. So you can stay up until three with your old man none the wiser.”

He laughed, then, and there was not a more beautiful sound in the world, surely. The rainclouds had lifted for the first time in weeks, the sun broke through and warmed his bones, and he thought it couldn’t get any better, but then Neal turned to him and asked him:

“Can you help me set it up, dad?”

Gold smiled and nodded, hoping desperately that he wasn’t tearing up; he hadn’t made Neal roll his eyes in at least a couple of days, and he didn’t want to break that streak just yet. “Yeah, of course! Now? Or do you want to finish your homework, first?”

Neal snorted and slapped his hand down on his shoulder before taking the box under his arm.

“Right,” Gold laughed. “Daft question.”

“You carry the records?”

“Alright.”

Gold followed Neal up to his room with the records held safely to his chest. He hadn’t been in there for a while. It smelled of incense and just the tiniest hint of clove cigarettes, but Gold decided not to mention it today. In his room, small and dark but cozy, the boy quickly freed space on a little low table pushed up against the wall opposite his bed. It was filled with candles and sketches, now hurriedly shoved to the side. Gold kept a comment about fire hazards to himself (he stored it next to the one about the cigarettes), and made a note to replace the batteries in his smoke detector again soon.

They sat on his bed and opened the box together. Gold had a look at the manual while Neal gently, reverently, took the player out of its cardboard box and into his lap. It was a beautiful little thing, made to look much older than it was, safely encased in wood with a translucent grey plastic lid to keep it dust free. Judging from the manual, the setup seemed simple enough, and when Gold moved from the bed to the little table, Neal followed with a pillow for his knees, which was very sweet.

He centered the record player neatly on the table, and Gold went about plugging it in and setting it up, answering the boy’s questions, showing him which parts were which. He told him how to replace the needle even though that wouldn't be necessary for a while, how to change the speed, that the tonearm wouldn’t reset itself but there was a switch that would stop the record from spinning when it reached the end, and all through what Gold assumed would have been a dreadfully boring technical explanation for a sullen teenager to process, his son was rapt.

“That’s it, really. Simple as that. Why don’t you pick a record, so we can give it a whirl.”

Neal bounced up and came back with the entire stack, flipping through them for one in particular. When he finally picked one out, he nearly dropped it to the floor in his excitement, but then it seemed he knew just what to do. He’d been listening, after all. And when the needle finally hit the record with a pleasant crackle and they both sat themselves down on the floor, leaning back against the foot of his bed and their legs stretched out in front of them, Neal dropped and leaned his head against his shoulder for just a second or three - no longer than that - but it was more than enough. It was perfect.

The drums, the voice and the guitar riff sounded familiar. The memory was distant and hazy and led to a smoke-filled room somewhere many, many years ago, but it was familiar for sure.

“I recognize this song,” said Gold. “What’s it called?”

“Happy House.”

“Was it a single?”

“Mhm.”

“Ah. It’s good.”

“You don’t have to pretend you like it,” he mumbled, giving him a forgiving little smile.

“I like it. Deal with it.”

Neal huffed and let his head fall back on the mattress to stare up at the ceiling. “Why does this sound so much better?” he remarked. “It’s, like, warmer somehow. Warmer than CDs, I mean.”

“I always thought so too,” he agreed quietly.

When Gold looked over at his son, his adam’s apple bobbed, his mouth opened and closed a few times as if he kept changing his mind about saying something, but eventually, in a deep, soft voice, he mumbled, “Sorry for being such a little shit.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t, son. It’s alright.”

“It wasn’t just the fact that you burst in. It wasn’t just you.”

The boy pulled his legs up, now, hugging his knees to his chest, staring straight ahead as the record spun and crackled, and Gold decided to fix his stare to the same point.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

“Not right now.”

“You know you can always talk to me about anything, yeah?”

“You’re such a cliché.”

Gold didn’t need to look at his son to know that he was smirking. He could hear it in his voice, laced with a pleasant touch of affectionate ridicule, and it made him want to laugh. He managed to keep it in his chest, though it crept up his throat just a bit, spread to his face and made him smile. And they sat there like that as the music played, staring at the spinning record, wordless now that they had dropped arms and come to a long overdue truce.

(Though the conflict had been mostly one-sided, and Gold hadn’t even picked up his shield, let alone a sword. It had been an accidental invasion. An unintentional siege. But it didn’t matter now. It was over.)

“I’m gonna get started on dinner. Spaghetti alright?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“No bother,” he said, pushing himself up from the floor with a groan. “I’d get in trouble if I didn’t feed you.”

“No, I mean -”

Gold snorted and patted Neal on the head, resisting the urge to ruffle his bird’s nest hair. Neal rolled his eyes, breaking the several days’ streak of not being subjected to that particular expression of exasperation, but he smiled as he did so, so it was worth it.

“You’re welcome.”

If he had said what he really wanted to say ( _“Thank you.”_ ), Gold knew, the boy’s eyes would have rolled out of his skull.

…

The very next morning, Gold still felt mighty pleased with himself, and slightly adventurous, too. One or two customers came in and left without buying anything, and after that, he stored himself safely away in his back room to fiddle with a broken clock until lunch time, at which point his newly hatched sense of accomplishment had almost completely matured into something else. Confidence, perhaps. It filled his chest with courage and his head with thoughts of strolling in, asking Belle out, and bravely facing either rejection, or acceptance, and both were equally terrifying. So the outcome didn’t matter, he convinced himself as he got into his car. The important part was asking.

(Of course it mattered. The sensible, sober part of his brain still knew that, but it was quiet and easily drowned out by the radio in this good mood of his.)

So instead of heading home for a quick sandwich and perhaps a bowl of soup, Gold drove towards the mall, the window rolled open to let the spring wind wreak havoc on his hair. It felt nice. And even when he walked into the store and saw that Belle was not alone at the register, but accompanied by a slightly confused looking girl peering over her shoulder, he didn’t see why that should stop him.

When he approached her, she looked so genuinely pleased to see him he couldn’t even say hello at first. Felt like his heart was trying to crawl up his throat. In a good way.

“Mr Gold! Hey!” she called out, shocking the girl next to her out of her concentration. And suddenly, her smile vanished without a trace. He was worried for a second, there, but then she asked him, “You didn’t find anything?”

Bless her. “No, no,” he said, shaking his head and forcing his heart right back down where it belonged. Stupid old thing. “Everything went well. I just thought I’d come by to tell you. And to thank you, of course.”

Well, he had come back to thank her, and to tell her how it went, but also to see if perhaps he couldn’t bring himself to ask her out, and the particular set of words he needed to make that happen weren’t anywhere to be found, in that moment. Not even close. And he hadn’t expected her to have company, either. But after a bit of lip biting and a quick glance at the confused girl behind the counter, Belle did some of the work for him.

“I could take my break now and you could tell me all about it,” she said, making it sound more like a question.

“I’d like that,” he said. And he said it quickly, decidedly, just in case she changed her mind.

“Yeah?”

Acknowledging his little nod with one of her own, Belle grinned and turned to the girl by the register. She had been watching them with guarded interest.

“Hey, d’you think you can hold the fort for ten minutes?” she asked her.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

She didn’t sound so sure about it, Gold thought, but that was none of his business.

“Great! I’ll be outside, but I’ll have my phone with me. Just call me if you need me, alright?”

“Sure.”

Turning to him, now, Belle chirped, “Just a sec!” and bounced into the room behind the counter where she stayed for all of six seconds, thankfully minimizing the time spent exchanging awkward smiles with the other girl. When she came back out, she had a little thermos in her hands and a leather jacket over her shoulders. It was black, and cracked, and weathered and well loved, and there were zippers at the sleeves, and because they were undone, he could see a deep red quilted lining. He liked it very much.

“Is the weather still nice? I haven’t been out since this morning.”

“Yeah, nice and sunny. Bit windy.”

“Good!”

She led him out into the artificial brightness of the mall, and then out of the sliding doors and into the sun. He followed her without question, not once wondering where she was leading them with that bounce in her step as the wind teased her hair and ruffled her skirt about her thighs. No tights today - probably because it was warmer out - and a flimsy pair of black canvas sneakers. Grass-stained, scuffed, and just as well-loved as that jacket of hers.

They walked along the side of the white rectangular building for a while, until they turned a corner. The unloading bays for trucks were here, a long, thigh high concrete wall separating each, and it was here that Belle sat herself down. When it became clear that he didn’t know whether to join her, she smiled and patted the space next to her and explained, “I usually take my breaks, here.”

“Ah.”

Shifting his weight to his cane, Gold sat down next to her, making sure to leave enough space between them. Then he leaned his cane against the wall and almost put one of his hands right on top of hers when he went to place them on the concrete either side of him, and he noticed _just_ in time that she had already claimed that space. It was a little odd, because he could have sworn he had made sure to leave enough space when he sat down. Instead, he folded his hands in his lap. That was safe enough.

“She’s new,” said Belle, answering a question he didn’t even know he had wanted to ask. “I just finished showing her how the register works.”

“Will she be fine on her own?”

Belle let her smile grow into a slightly mischievous grin, and when she shrugged, he was both delighted and unnerved, because he had no idea how to read that.

“Hope you don’t mind if I have my tea while we chat!” she said, holding up her little thermos. It was black, save for a brightly colored pink bunny right in the middle.

“Oh, it’s the, uh. That thing.”

“Yeah, the thing,” she laughed, swinging one leg over the other, swaying it just a bit. “I meant to cover it up with some stickers, but I haven't gotten round to it yet. 40 percent employee discount. Can't be picky.”

She unscrewed the top, which served as a little cup. Slow but steady, frowning in concentration, Belle poured a milky brown liquid into the cup. A warm, pleasant cloud of spices reached his nose, and it surprised him. There was a hint of tea, sure, but it was buried deeply beneath the other scents, and he could only place one or two. Cardamom, perhaps? Cinnamon, maybe.

“That smells good.”

“It’s chai! I make it myself. Would you like to try? It’s just black tea with milk and spices. It’s really good!”

He wished she hadn’t told him she’d made it herself. How could he possibly turn her down now? It did smell good, but that didn’t mean it would _taste_ good, and although Gold thought himself a pretty skilled liar, he wasn’t sure if that skill extended to spontaneous facial expressions caused by intense physiological reactions.

Noticing his reticence, Belle assured him, “Nothing weird! Just cloves and cardamom and things like that.”

“Alright, then. Thank you.”

With a pleased smile that made him even more nervous about it, she held out her little plastic cup. Ah. What a wee thing. Looked a little bit like something Neal would have put up to his teddy bear’s maw when he was about four, five years old. It was so little, he knew their fingers would brush when he reached over and took it from her, and when he did, and _they_ did, and he glanced up nervously and saw the corners of her pretty mouth twitch…

Oh, he was lost. Done for. There was no reason for his heart to do _that_ just because of an innocent touch, there and gone again before he could even blink.

She hugged her jacket over her shoulders and watched closely as he brought the tea up to his lips, and the closer he brought it, the more he relaxed, because how could something that smelled that good possibly taste bad? He closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to see her disappointed face if he was wrong after all, but then he took a sip, and it was fine. More than fine. It was very pleasant, and warm, and sweet, and comforting. But it was spicy too, just a little bit. Was that pepper?

“That’s really good, actually.”

“ _Actually?_ ” she cried, a teasing tone to her voice that matched her cheekily quirked eyebrow. “What did you expect, exactly?”

She took her cup back and put it up to her own lips without taking her eyes off his even for a millisecond.

“I don’t know,” he laughed sheepishly, looking down at his feet when he felt the weight of her stare pushing in his ribcage, making him feel weak. “But it’s nice. I like it.”

“Good!” She’d only put a little bit of tea in there, so she finished it quickly, screwed the top back on and put her little thermos down at her feet. “So, how did it go? Did you find the place alright?”

“Yes, no problem at all. Strange place, but in a good way, I suppose. Think I might take Neal there some time. Right up his alley.”

“What did you think of Jefferson?”

“He was very helpful. Really knows his stuff,” he replied with a serious nod. “And he’s, ah… He’s a very interesting character.”

He made sure to smile when he said that last bit, lest Belle understood ‘interesting’ to be a synonym for ‘unpleasantly unhinged’ and mistakenly thought he was insulting her friend. Good thing, too, because she sighed in relief and gave him a warm, genuine smile.

“Oh, and before I forget,” he added. “He says hi.”

“We've turned you into a personal messenger!” she laughed. “Sorry about that. It's kind of silly, cause he called me after you left, anyway.”

Fuck.

“Did he?”

What had he told her? Could he have told her anything embarrassing? Had he actually said or done anything embarrassing in there? He tried to remember, but his mind was startlingly blank, now.

“Yeah! He told me he picked out a bunch of records and you got him a record player.”

_Oh, thank God._

“Wouldn’t have thought of it myself, but it turned out to be perfect. He liked every single record Jefferson picked out, too. Loves it.”

“Oh, that’s brilliant! I’m so happy for you!”

The strange thing was, she really did seem like she was, with that ridiculously pleased smile of hers and the cheer in her voice.

“Was that the end of the Cold War at the Gold residence, then?” she asked with a playful smirk.

“More or less,” he replied. “He’s still not completely back to his old self, but we’ll get there.”

“I’m sure you will. You seem like a…”

She had started off so confidently, but then she fell curiously silent, her mouth still open for the missing words to show up fashionably late until she shrugged and said, “I mean, it seems like you’re close.”

He seemed like a _what?_ God, this little habit of hers to swallow the end of a sentence and knit on a completely different ending was low level maddening. Not quite maddening enough to make him want to _ask_ , however. No. Just ever so slightly maddening. Like Chinese water torture. Drip by drip, if she kept it up long enough, he would break down and tell her where the bodies were dumped, the murder weapon was stashed, and the gold was buried, all to know what she really meant.

“And you,” he said, swallowing his spurious confessions back down. “Did you contact Sidney, yet?”

“Oh, no,” she said, shaking her head. “I was going to! Honest! I just want to finish the review first. The one I was working on, remember?”

Gold nodded.

“I might shackle myself to my computer and force myself to make it happen, tonight,” she mused, nodding seriously.

“You do that,” said Gold, smiling fondly. Belle seemed to have sat herself down at the keyboard mentally already, staring out into the parking lot with her brow furrowed and her lips moving almost imperceptibly. Someone less pathetically taken with her probably wouldn’t have noticed.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Hm?” Her eyes snapped right back to his, and she looked a little confused despite her bright smile.

“Thank you,” he repeated. “For trying to help me find something in the store, even though I had nothing to go on, and then sending me on to your friend. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

“Like I said, I think you two would have worked it out either way,” she said with a shrug, shyly smiling down at his knees. “And anyway, I liked helping. And talking. I don’t mind slow mornings, but, you know…”

“I’m not sure we would have made up that easily, but even so,” he said, fighting down the burning urge to beg her to finish that bloody sentence because it would end up haunting him if she didn’t, “you were a great help, and you put a great deal of time and effort into helping me out. So thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, with a smile that made something that shouldn’t have been there flutter in his stomach, urging him to do something, to ask her, to make sure whatever this was didn’t end there on that wall, surrounded by asphalt, concrete and cars baking in the spring sun.

He had come here to tell her how it went. He’d done that. He’d also come here to thank her for her help, and now that was out of the way, too. He wasn’t even close to opening his mouth to say something, but that was what he would tell himself when he went over the day’s events in his mind later that day, anyway. He would tell himself he had been incredibly close to saying something meaningful and charming when Belle cut him off, and with a mystifying little smile that looked nothing like any of the others he’d seen so far, asked him:

“Does this mean we won’t be seeing each other anymore?”

And he froze. He couldn’t tell why she was asking. What answer she wanted to hear, and what she would like to happen. She was staring hard, and her little smile didn’t give up its secrets no matter how long he kept his gaze affixed to her lips and tried to stare the mystery out of them.

“Well, I certainly expect to see you in the paper some time soon,” he croaked, cursing his dry mouth and wishing he had taken another sip of her tea, earlier. “Your words, at least.”

With something he couldn’t quite make out was a sigh or a laugh, she looked down at her knees and smiled. “Yeah. That’d be good. And I might need to pawn something if that doesn’t work out and the store cuts my hours again.”

He knew he was supposed to laugh, so he did, but he could manage little more than an amused huff. Did the trick, though. Made her smile grow bigger.

“Yeah, that would be - No, wait. I mean I hope not, but…”

Her giggle made him laugh and shake his head. Fuck, but he was a clumsy old fool today, and he’d started the day off with such confidence, too. Doubt had crept back into his skull, and tied his brain’s shoelaces together so that he was stumbling about, trying to keep his balance, or to avoid falling down in such a way that would snap his neck and kill him on the spot, anyway. She was older than she looked, yes, but that didn’t make him any younger. And it was her job to be nice to customers. She had to help him. She had to be nice. But she was on her break, now. He could ask, and she could say no. She might even…

“What I meant is I wouldn’t mind if - … In fact, I’d like -”

Oh, he wished he had the luxury of simply choosing not to finish his sentences like Belle did, but unlike her, Gold usually didn’t have a choice in the matter. Like just then, for instance, when her phone rang and made her stop smiling at him. It was just an innocent little chime, probably relatively pleasant in any other circumstance, but then and there, it was the ugliest sound Gold had heard in his entire life, more grating and unpleasant than nails on chalkboard, and he cringed for the duration of it. (Not that long, actually. It appeared to be a text.)

Belle scrambled to fish it out of her jacket pocket and squinted at the screen until her mouth dropped open and she pushed herself up from the wall. Gold followed reflexively, grabbing his cane and hoisting himself up.

“I’m so sorry,” she told him hurriedly. “I need to get back. Huge group of kids just walked in and I sort of lied. I really shouldn’t have left her on her own.”

“Ah! Alright. Of course. Yes.”

“What did you want to say?”

His mouth was dry, his throat constricting, his heart racing and his palms sweaty, and he forced his mouth to open so he could ask her, tell her, but nothing came out except a dry, “Thank you.”

“Oh. Well, you’re still welcome,” she said softly, with a little smile that some part of him wanted to read as sad, or disappointed at least. “And thank _you_.”

He forced himself to smile. It felt mechanical and wrong, but he had to. And as he watched her rush away, he felt sick to his stomach. Too fast. She was gone too fast. The moment gone, the window of opportunity hammered firmly shut, and this wasn’t fair, was it? This couldn’t possibly be fair. He needed a do over. He didn’t deserve one, but God, after all these years, could fate just look the other way for a second and -

“Oh!” she cried out right before the turned the corner. And there she came again, in a bit of a jog, an embarrassed smile on her face, and unfortunately, Gold knew why she was coming back. The moment she’d turned around, he’d noticed her little thermos, lonely and forgotten on the ground. Before she could do it herself, Gold bent down and picked it up for her.

“Thanks,” she breathed, a little blush on her cheeks.

“No matter.”

Because if he completed just one more loop of _thank you_ and _you’re welcome_ , leading absolutely nowhere, he would scream.

She took it with both hands. One of them covered his. Might have happened because she hadn’t been looking at her hands, but then again, she wasn’t looking at her hands because she was staring him silly with her impossibly blue eyes, eyes that made him feel like a floaty idiot whenever he tried to describe them.

She wasn’t letting go. It felt like his heart had stopped.

“Bye, Mr Gold,” she said. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll have a reason to come back some time. I really hope you do.”

The thermos slipped from his hand, and so did she, but before she turned the corner that time, she looked over her shoulder and gave him an unsure smile.

And then she was gone.

Whatever it was, it felt a little bit like hunger. Something of his left with her and left him hollow, but the feeling became a little less terrifying when he realized, sitting and staring ahead in his sun warmed car, that he could come back. She would still be here. She’d practically asked him to, hadn’t she? He could come back and ask her to dinner, or just to get a drink some time, or whatever she liked. And she could say no, but at least he would have asked. Not tomorrow, but soon. Soonish. He would come back, and she might offer to spend her break with him again, and he would be brave.

By the time Gold had licked his wounds clean and had gathered enough courage to consider showing up on her proverbial doorstep with no real excuse for the first time, the week was over, and for a little while, he thought that was actually a good thing. Best not to appear desperate, or obsessive, wasn’t it?

But he didn’t think that for very long. He passed by the shop three times after those useless days of sitting around and wasting time. Twice at an hour he knew she used to be there, and once to see if perhaps her shifts had been switched, but she wasn't there. She wasn’t ever there. He let the hollow, desperate feeling that was growing strong once more draw him into the store one morning, where it changed from hollowness to heaviness when he asked the boy at the register if Belle still worked there, and he got a strange, blank look in return.

“Belle?” he repeated. “Brown hair with a blue streak in it? Really… _Really_ blue eyes? Australian accent?”

The boy narrowed his eyes at him, and it was impossible to tell whether he was deep in thought or purposely choosing not to answer, and the most ridiculous thought struck him, then: He hadn’t made her up, had he? Had the past couple of weeks been a string of incredibly lifelike hallucinations?

“She quit.”

Ah. Yes, heaviness. That was it. A heavy stone in his stomach, making him tighten his grip on his cane for fear of his knees getting weak and buckling under the weight.

“Oh. When… When was that?” he managed.

“Two days ago. Can _I_ help?”

Two days ago? Two bloody days ago, Gold was sitting at home, watching mediocre television, trying to distract himself from thoughts of her because he didn’t feel _ready_ yet, the fucking idiot.

“You wouldn’t know how I could get a hold of her, would you?” he asked, swallowing a tightness in his throat.

The boy just gave him a suspicious look and shook his head, and Gold nodded understandingly. Of course. Old, crippled man walks in, asks for a girl’s contact details, provides no context or explanation. Couldn’t blame the lad. Right choice.

“Alright. Never mind. If you see her…”

Another dead-eyed stare made the rest of his sentence curl up and die, and Gold sighed.

“Alright. Bye.”

And he left, feeling small and pathetic, like he’d simply left some significant part of himself behind, there. In the car, he muttered a string of curses under his breath until he realized he must have looked like a lunatic to people passing by, hauling their loot back to their own cars. Not that he cared much. He just wanted them to stop staring.

And God, he felt sick. He’d been peckish before, but now he felt utterly, utterly sick. Checking the clock, Gold realized that Neal would be home, soon, and he was not at all in the mood to cook. He texted the boy a quick _‘Up for pizza tonight?’_ and sat there staring blankly ahead for a minute, until his phone buzzed.

 _‘Burgers with my friends if that’s ok’_.

And of course it was, so he texted him just that. Gold sighed, glad that he wouldn’t have to cook, slightly disappointed that he would be coming home to an empty house where his thoughts had room to grow louder, bigger, dumber. To echo back to him and strike him more than once. In his empty house, Gold ate some bread just to quieten his stomach, and then dragged himself over to the sofa where he collapsed and resorted to staring at the television. He managed for a few hours more than he usually could.

Didn’t help much, though. Two days ago. God. He’d been waiting in front of a closed door, psyching himself up, for two whole days, and all this time it was locked, bricked up, possibly disassembled, burned and its ashes quartered and buried in the four corners of the earth.

Neal came home at about eight, which was a reasonable hour, but he would have appreciated the interruption to his painful train wreck of a mood much sooner.

“Dad?”

“I’m in here,” he replied, feeling a smile break through his cement frown for the first time that afternoon.

“Hey,” he said, appearing in the living room doorway.

“Hey! Have fun?”

“Yeah. You alright, dad?”

“Course.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah! Why?”

“Dunno,” he shrugged. “You look kinda tired. Plus, you hate stuff like that,” he explained, nodding at the television.

Gold looked at the screen - really _looked_ for the first time in hours - and saw some idiot in an underwater cage, being circled by a shark. God, he did hate that. Completely unfair. The animal was only trying to go about its business, trying not to starve, and here this cocky moron thought it would make for good television to get into a cage and waste this poor animal’s time. _And_ his.

“I do, but this cage looks shoddier than usual,” he muttered with a little smirk. “I’m hoping for a well-deserved life lesson.”

Neal snorted and shuffled his way over to the sofa, sitting down right next to him. Gold muted the TV.

“Did you get enough to eat?” he asked. “I can whip something up for you if you’re hungry.”

“Nah, I’m good.”

Gold watched the flashing TV light cast bright blue ocean colors on his son’s face, and found that there was a little smile, there. It was a smile he hadn’t seen since before that fateful night he so rudely interrupted Neal’s…tête-à-tête with his lady friend. The girl who bolted like a startled gazelle when they made eye contact for the very first time. And he knew that it was a risky question that he was about to ask; he could very well have drawn the wrong conclusion from that smile, but then again, that was a very, very particular smile, that one. He doubted he could mistake it for something else.

“How’s Emma?”

It took a few seconds for Neal’s smile to disappear, though his eyes had flown wide open at the very mention of her. Slowly, swallowing, the boy turned and gave him a suspicious look.

“How do you know her name?” he asked.

“When you ran after her, you… may have mentioned it.”

Or shouted it. Rather dramatically. Several times. Gold tried not to smirk as Neal grew visibly embarrassed, not quite to the point of blushing. He faced the TV again and shrugged.

“She’s good.”

“So I didn’t scare her out of town?”

“No,” he sighed, slumping in his seat. “I kind of did. But we’re okay, now, so whatever. It’s fine.”

“What do you mean?”

Another sigh. Another shrug, too.

“Never mind. It’s alright. You don’t have to -”

“You scared the hell out of her, but I caught up with her at the park, and we were laughing about it, like, ten minutes later. Everything was fine until I told her you had no idea I even had a girlfriend.”

“She was upset you hadn’t told me about her?”

Neal shook his head. “The word freaked her out.”

“Girlfriend, you mean?”

“Yeah. Kinda forgot we never really talked about it.”

“Oh.”

“So she freaked out, and I was like, you can call me your boyfriend and I won’t call you anything at all if that’s what you want, cause I was fucking - Sorry.”

“No matter.”

“Cause I was panicking. And I know it was a dumb thing to say, but she was so upset, and I could tell she was going to leave, so I just said it, and she thought…”

“She thought you were taking the piss.”

“Yeah. She makes my brain say these really dumb things sometimes, you know? I don’t know what’s up with that.”

He couldn’t not smile, because he knew exactly what he meant. Gold nodded, gently urging him on to finish his story.

“So she just took off and avoided me until… Well, until today, actually,” he admitted.

Burgers with friends - yeah right. Inwardly, Gold patted himself on the back for reading that smile of his exactly right. Outwardly, Gold made sure not to look as smug as he felt.

“And you two are alright, now?”

“Yup. Back to normal.”

“And you can refer to her as your -”

Neal laughed darkly and let his head fall forward in defeat. “Nope,” he said with a grin that told him that all in all, he didn’t really mind that much.

“Well,” sighed Gold, “I suppose it’s just a formality, after all.” _And good luck with that one,_ he thought to himself with a fond smile.

He knew that that was the end of the conversation, because Neal had taken the remote and turned the volume back up. Together, they sat and waited in vain for the shark to smash through that cage and make a snack of that flippered buffoon after all, cheering in unison whenever the little beastie managed to almost fit his head through.

And in between those moments, Gold felt the heaviness slip away just a bit, making it less painful to think about her. In fact, he soon found himself thinking less in terms of completely obliterated doors and shattered windows of opportunity, and more in terms of alternative ways to get some sort of closure on the matter. Because no matter how dark his thoughts turned at times, and how deeply he could loathe himself in those moments, he didn’t really think that Belle meant to vanish completely. How could she have, when she all but held his hand that last time he saw her, and said so many things that made him feel like perhaps she wanted him to reach out and come closer?

He didn't know her last name, but did he really need to? He knew her blog, too. When Neal went up to his room, bored with the lack of mutilated marine biologists, Gold sat down at his computer and looked it up. Belle’s Book Nook, it was. A simple little layout, mostly blue - no surprise, there. If you liked the color blue enough to make it your hair color, you liked it enough to make it your font color. There was no contact information he could find by just clicking around for a while. Perhaps he could leave a comment on one of her reviews, but what would he even say?

_‘Hello! I'm the man you might have been flirting with on occasion the last couple of weeks. Or not. I might be the creep who doggedly misread your every move or mistakenly assumed it was anything more than bored flirting. E-mail me.’_

No, not that. Maybe as a last resort.

But that Jefferson was acting rather odd at times, back in his strange little basement shop, ensuring him she wasn’t _that_ young, suggesting he go see her again. Could he go back and ask for her - … No, no, no. Creepier than the cyber-stalking option.

So instead of anything quite as proactive as that, Gold waited. He checked her blog every day, more than was strictly healthy. He’d read every review she’d put up there, some of them twice. The harsh ones made him laugh, and the glowing ones made him smile. He wasn't sure what he was waiting for. A sign of life, perhaps, but she didn’t update at all that week. Besides, it wasn't as if she was going to turn her blog into a missed connection ad, or write a review of a book the existence of which was questionable, just to leave him a hint.

_‘Review: “I quit my job, and now I miss flirting with the clientele.” One and a half stars. Would not recommend.’_

He bought the paper every day during his lunch break, too. A simpler, cheaper tactic would have been to call Sidney and ask him whether she’d contacted him, but that could go wrong very easily when he found out that she had, and he had already turned her down.

 _‘Yes, hi. Got your number from the man I told you would let you write for his paper, and then didn’t. Drinks? Dinner? Need help filing a restraining order? Did I mention my law degree?’_

No. That wouldn’t do, either.

And so life went on as before, only now, whenever he was all alone, Gold had to fight down the ghost of Belle’s eyes and smile on occasion. She would appear in the midst of swirling dust and coffee smell in the back room of his shop whenever he let his mind wander. He found that numbers helped keep her away, so keeping busy with the books became his priority. That, and difficult repairs of intricate little clockwork things that were ambitious for a man of his skill (or lack of it) drowned out the thought of her, drowned out missing what could have been, drowned out _her_ so effectively, that after several days of useless pining, he was almost convinced that soon, he would be able to get through a single day without thinking of her.

Not _that_ soon, though, and certainly not on that beautiful Monday morning, leaning on his counter and watching the townsfolk pass his shop on the way to work, or school, or whatever it was they got up to all day. He drank his coffee from that awful chipped mug he’d begged her to sell him, now. He kept it on the counter, next to the register, behind a pen holder and with the image turned away from any potential customers. But he couldn’t bring himself to store it away. He knew that couldn’t possibly help much to banish her ghost, but if he was completely honest with himself, which he rarely was, Gold might have admitted that there was something about that niggling pain that was a little bit addictive. Bittersweet, almost, and too precious to let go of just yet. He hadn’t felt anything quite like it for a very long time.

But it was nothing compared to what he felt when his little bell chimed that morning, and when he looked up and through the dancing dust, he saw her. Belle. She had brought the light in with her, and she stood in it for a little while with her hands behind her back, smiling at him until the bell chimed again and the door fell shut, and she took a few steps towards him.

He was forgetting to breathe.

“Hey!”

Oh. Oh, yes, he was done for. No two ways about it. It was worse than he remembered it, this fondness, this infatuation. The sight of her a breath of fresh air after a lifetime in a dungeon, her voice the best thing he’d heard in a dozen years, at least.

He came around the counter, slowly, like he was convinced he could startle her and scare her off again if he made any sudden movements. She looked different. She still had the blue in her hair, and she hadn’t taken out her nose ring either, but underneath that leather jacket he was surprised to realize he’d missed the sight of after seeing it only once, she was wearing a white blouse, a blue skirt, and heels. Very high ones. She was almost at eye level, now, she was.

“Belle! Hey!” he just about managed when he realized that it was probably extremely strange to just stare at her in silence like that.

“Found you,” she replied, smiling like she didn’t mind his stare one bit.

She’d been looking? Oh, God. This was his chance to tell her. Tell her what? No, better just kiss her. Or not. Maybe not do that incredibly stupid thing. Maybe just tell her, or ask her, or oh fuck, why could he feel his heartbeat in the pit of his stomach?

He knew his voice would sound dry and weak, but still he joked, “You’re not here to pawn anything, are you?” And when he said the words, he realized he wasn’t joking entirely. He really did need to make sure.

“No!” she laughed, shaking her head and stepping a little closer. “I was in town, and I remembered you said you had a pawn shop. I was gonna ask Sidney where it was, but I got here early for our meeting, so I drove around to see if I couldn’t find you.” She paused and let her grin grow bigger. “And I did.”

“Sidney? You contacted him?”

“Yeah! We’ve been e-mailing back and forth for a while, and well… Look!”

She pulled out a rolled up newspaper from behind her back and rushed over to his counter, a bit unsteady on her heels, which was beyond endearing. She struggled with the paper for a while as he tried to resist helping, but eventually she managed to spread it out to a particular page and fold it a few times so it wouldn’t take up the entire counter. With that done, she put her finger on a rectangular box in the corner of the page. Gold moved closer, and she shuffled to the side to make room for him.

Belle’s Book Nook, it said. _Belle French._ He had her full name, now. Wouldn’t let her slip away as easily anymore, now, unless she wanted to.

He hoped not.

“This is great,” he said, a proud grin taking over his face, which felt a little bit warmer than usual, incidentally. “Told you it was good. I’m so pleased you contacted him.”

“I’m meeting with him later,” she explained excitedly. That explained the outfit. “When I e-mailed him, he said he’d been trying to think of ways to bring something new to the paper for a while, and he asked me to send my next review his way. This came out today. It's the one you saw me working on.”

Just scanning it quickly, he did recognize some of the more memorable phrasing. Gold smirked. “I liked that one. It was ruthless.”

“I finished it because of you.”

From the corner of his eye, he caught her smirking, too. And then they both fell silent somehow; curious with the air in between them thick with words.

“I went back.”

Like those three in particular, for instance, which he couldn’t even take the time to frame properly. Quick, blunt, no run-up. He needed to say it now that he still had the chance. She seemed to know exactly what he meant.

“I know,” she said, one corner of her mouth pulling up in a kind smile. “They told me when I picked up some stuff yesterday. I... I wasn't sure if you would.”

His eyebrows flew up in surprise. If that meant what he thought it meant - if that meant she had waited for him - then he was a bigger idiot than he’d thought. He couldn’t help but frown at his own stupidity, felt his throat constrict with words of self-chastisement, better swallowed down before he let them up and ruined the mood. This very strange, fragile, exciting mood between them. A little electric. A little warm.

“Quitting was a spur of the moment thing cause they were changing my shifts around and cutting my hours again, anyway, and... Well, I didn't think. I was really excited to start something new. I didn't mean to disappear.”

His heart jumped when she said that. To know that for sure meant the world, and the way she said it, well, it made his blood feel electric, made him feel jumpy, happy, made his fingers want to hold on to something to keep from twitching, but his cane was on the other side of the room, so it came down to pure willpower to not appear to Belle a nervous, over-excited wreck. He didn’t feel brave enough to tell her how much he needed to hear that, but he was sure she could see it in his face. He knew he was smiling. He couldn’t possibly not have been smiling.

“So,” he said, clearing his throat of that tightness with a little cough, “is this going to be a regular thing?”

“Yeah! And he made it sound like he could use me for other things, too, so I’m really excited.”

“That’s great, Belle. I’m really, really so pleased for you. You were the best shop person I’ve ever dealt with -”

Gold cut himself off because she giggled, and he wanted to hear. He’d missed that sound.

“You truly were,” he continued, smirking when he caught her cheeks catching color. “But you’re more than that. And you look happy.”

“I am. And if it hadn’t been for you, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Oh, nonsense!” he growled, shaking his head. “It’s your talent. Bet you didn’t mention me at all. Did you?”

She pressed her lips close together, raised a delicate eyebrow, and he wondered; did she really think that she could fool anyone with a face that gloriously expressive?

“Alright, I didn’t,” she admitted with a cheeky grin. “But I definitely will during our meeting, if he starts getting stingy.”

“Good. Not that I have his family -”

“Locked in a basement, yeah,” she cut in in a deep voice, audibly bursting at the seams with held back laughter. “Gotcha.”

“Well, in any case, I’m going to go out and buy a copy later,” he decided with a sigh, leaning over counter on his elbows, bent over the paper, smiling at that little column of words he could hardly wait to read.

“Just take this one!” she chirped, joining him at the counter, resting on her elbows too. She was very close, now, and he could smell cloves and cardamom - her tea - and the leather of her jacket.

“No, no!” he said firmly, trying not to smile and thereby weaken the effect, sliding the folded up paper back at her. “There needs to be a clear spike in sales, today. I’m buying my own.”

“Ah, but I insist you take this one,” she shot back, sliding the paper right back at him, and now their arms were touching, side by side, and when he looked up at her, her bright blue eyes and her rosy cheeks made the curious thing in his stomach that only came out when she was around flutter wildly.

“Only if you sign it for me.”

It was a joke, but she rolled her eyes fondly, took a pen out of his pen holder, and scribbled her name next to the heading of her article. A deal was a deal, so he would definitely be keeping this one, but he’d go out and buy another copy anyway. Two, maybe. No, three. She didn’t have to know.

Ah, but when she pulled her hand back and firmly planted the paper in between his arms again, he noticed with some shock that it wasn’t her name.

It was her number, and perhaps more importantly: a little heart just underneath.

Her number, and a tiny little heart drawn in blue ink.

The flesh and blood one in his chest started pounding, and his mouth was as dry as desert sand, and he didn’t dare breathe, didn’t dare look up for fear of finding her gone, like he’d imagined all of it, like it was a dream. So he stared at that heart. Stared at it so hard his eyes almost started to water.

He had to say _something_ , because she was waiting. She was so incredibly close, and her arm was warm against his, and she smelled so nice, and she was _waiting_ , for fuck’s sake!

“That’s a funny way of spelling Belle.”

Was that really better than nothing, though? Because she wasn’t laughing. Not even a snort, or a mildly amused, slightly louder than normal exhale. None of that. So he forced himself to turn his head and look over, and oh, her face was closer than he thought it would be. Closer than before. Startlingly close. And the smell of chai was stronger now. And her beautiful eyes were round and kind as they fluttered over his face for a while until they stuck to his lips, and her lips were pink and slightly parted as she leaned in and softly, gently, very sweetly, brushed them against his, and kissed him.

He’d just assumed he would be the one to kiss her first. That was the way he pictured it, late at night when he couldn’t fall asleep. And in that scenario, Gold didn’t just stay perfectly unmoving, frozen to the spot. No, in his daydreams, he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close to him, maybe let his cane clatter to the floor dramatically as he dipped her and made her wrap her arms around his neck.

In reality, he was stunned. Not smooth at all. But this was very sweet. He liked it very much. It was perfect, even, or at least it would be, if he could bring himself to move and do his part.

When she pulled away, blushing, he was still paralyzed. Probably made quite the picture with his mouth a little open and his eyes wide, lovestruck, kissed into a reverent silence. Belle scanned his face for just a second, then lowered her head to stare at her reflection in the glass countertop. Or the items underneath. He wasn’t sure.

“I, uh…” she started, her voice soft, quiet and fragile. “I know you have a family. A son. I know there’s a chance you can’t do this. And some part of me’s been saying that it’s silly to think that a man like you could be seriously interested in an underachieving shop girl, so if you wanted that to be a kiss goodbye, then I’d be sad, but I’d -”

“Belle.”

His limbs had thawed. He pushed himself up from the counter, and blinking in confusion, Belle followed.

“Hm?”

He caught her lips and stilled them before she could come up with something even more ridiculous to say. When he pulled back, the most curious thing happened: Nothing much at all. She stared at him with her eyes were wide, gaze dancing from his left eye to his right nervously, over and over, until her normally oh so clever mouth started up again, and she murmured, “Then again, you came back… And you kept the mug, and -”

So she noticed the bloody mug, but not the fact that he’d kissed her back just then? No matter. That meant he had an excuse to kiss her again, which was exactly what he did, with both hands on her warm, soft cheeks, catching her bottom lip a little firmer, now. Just to make sure she was catching on.

But even when she broke the kiss that time and there was far less worry on her pretty face, he still kept his hands on her cheeks. Just in case.

“And you’re kissing me,” she said softly, so quiet he almost didn’t catch it.

He felt himself smile for the umpteenth time since she walked into his shop that morning. “I’m _trying_ to.”

When she laughed, then, and he brushed his thumbs against the softness of her cheeks, he felt that strange, unnamed thing just below his ribcage resonate to the sound, a buzzing that became a white hot heat when she threw her arms over his shoulders and came crashing into him, kissing him so hard their teeth nearly knocked together. He couldn’t keep his hands on her cheeks like that, so he wrapped his arms around her waist instead.

His head was reeling. He couldn’t believe his luck. He hadn’t even tried his best to find her, so he couldn’t possibly deserve her, but here she was anyway, defying several unknown laws of the universe, warm in his arms, kissing him senseless, making his knees feel a bit wobbly. She’d practically come falling into his lap. She’d tracked him down, given him her number, and kissed him.

Still not entirely convinced he hadn’t been making it all up, Gold couldn’t help but keep a hand on her waist when she let her arms fall from his shoulders and broke their kiss.

Her hair a little messier, now, and her face completely red, Belle smirked and softly said, “So…”

“So…” he repeated, fully aware that he was probably just as red, and grinning like an idiot to boot. The thing to do was probably to tell her she wasn’t an underachieving shop girl. That he _was_ interested. To ask her how in the name of God she could possibly think he wasn’t. How she could sound so much as if _he_ was out of _her_ league, which was by far the most delusional thought anyone could ever voice without being dragged off and institutionalized posthaste.

But no. He couldn’t manage any of that. Maybe if she stopped smiling at him, he might get some of that out, but she didn’t, so he couldn’t.

“So. I, uh… I know this is really short notice,” she said, her fingers playing with the zipper of her leather jacket, “but do you want to have lunch together, later? I have to go meet Sidney now, but I saw this diner nearby. I don’t know if it’s any good, but if you’re up for it, we could -”

“I know the place. I’d love to.”

“Oh!” she cried, beaming. “Good!”

He hadn’t actually meant to interrupt her that time, but if she was doing all of the firsts (kissing him, asking him out), then he needed to be right behind her. Stick to her like a shadow, and follow her every move without delay.

“Really good, cause I really have to go, now,” she said, glancing at one of many clocks scattered around his shop. “D’you wanna meet in front of the diner? Noon?”

“Perfect.”

“Alright, then!” she said, her lips twisting into a little grin as she walked backwards towards the door a few steps before thinking better of it (those heels must have been very new) and turning around after all. His bell chimed, and she was gone.

And for a second, it felt like she’d taken the air out of the room with her, because when he tried to breathe in deep, there was a strange pressure in his chest that kept his lungs from fully expanding. Like he’d just witnessed some beautiful natural disaster, a once in a lifetime celestial event of devastating proportions, but only now realized how close he’d come to being pelted to death by hundreds of whizzing, whistling meteorites.

He caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror behind the counter. Fairly red. Shocked or delighted; he couldn’t quite tell.

“It’s just a bloody date,” he told that idiot in the mirror.

Shit, it was a date. She’d kissed him. He wasn’t wearing the right tie. They’d kissed more than once. Would she notice if he showed up with a different tie? Had he shaved properly that morning? Had he missed a spot? They’d kissed, what… three times?

Right, that was it. He hadn’t abandoned his shop during opening hours even once the past few days, but he needed to go and make himself presentable at home. This was more important than the shop.

This was a date.


	4. Diner Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lasagna, chocolate cake, flirting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello. You're all still awesome for commenting and reading and leaving kudos and all those super nice things. Thank you.
> 
> Forgive me for the terrible summary and bear with me as I try to come up with titles for the previous three chapters. I'll get to them eventually.
> 
> <3

A slightly more appropriate tie, one cup of coffee and a lot of toothpaste later, Gold began his walk to the diner and arrived a whole six minutes early, fully expecting and prepared to look like a lost old man for as long as it took for Belle to get there and collect him. But as he approached the place, he saw that she was already there, standing quite near the sidewalk, waiting. She hadn’t noticed him yet.

With her hands clasped behind her back, swaying slightly, Belle stretched her neck every so often so she could see over an idling car obstructing her line of sight, or past a slow passerby. Gold felt a tingle at the bottom of his skull, right where it met his neck, at the simple realization that it was _him_ she was looking for. That gorgeous little thing that never seemed to run out of smiles was trying to make herself taller so she could see him approach.

He didn’t think he’d seen her from that angle before. It wasn’t quite her profile, but close. The midday sun struck the side of her face and made the one eye he could see from where he was approaching her a strange silvery blue. Should he tap her on the shoulder? No. No, better just say hello.

Or perhaps…

Gold began to smirk as he got very close, now, quietly as he could. Once he was close enough, he lowered his voice to a deep, teasing tone and asked her, “Looking for someone?”

“Oh my God!”

She spun around, her little hand with her nails painted black splayed over her heart, eyes wide and a grin on her face. He was glad he hadn’t touched her shoulder, now. She might have screamed.

“I thought you’d… The pawn shop is over _there!_ ” she said, pointing over her shoulder.

“Ah, but my house isn’t.”

“Right!” she giggled, a little nervous jitter in her voice that rather soothed his own nerves. “Of course. You don't live in your shop.”

True, but he worked there, and that was exactly what he should have been doing instead of rushing back home to make himself presentable for her. He was rather relieved she hadn’t figured that out, or didn’t think it that strange, at least. Gold took the liberty of putting his hand in the small of her back to guide her on in. The sun had warmed the back of her leather jacket.

“My treat, by the way!” she sang.

“Oh, do be sensible. My treat. You quit your job last week.”

“Yeah, alright,” Belle laughed. “It’s not like I’m not making any money at all, now, but you have a point. Next one’s on me. Thanks.”

Next one? Gold grinned as he settled into the booth she had picked, feeling his chest fill up with confidence. Nerves had set in the moment she left his shop that morning, but now he was strangely calm about it. Admittedly, Belle had caught him by surprise back there. By kissing him, she had greatly upset the imaginary order of the imaginary efforts Gold imagined he would undertake over the appropriate length of time in order to woo her. Not that he had drawn up a very intricate plan for that. In fact, the plan had only started forming properly when she walked into his shop and became a genuine possibility again. And then she kissed him, leaping over steps one through five with very little ceremony.

Not that he was complaining.

The diner was fairly busy, but the chatter from the other customers and the clanging sounds of plates and dishwasher doors in the kitchen was actually a little charming, today. It was probably just the fact that he had her sitting opposite him, shrugging out of her jacket, smiling non-stop. Made everything sound better. Made the coffee stain in the middle of the table look like a perfectly placed and profound piece of modern art, and the cheap art on the walls look like masterpieces. He really did like that blouse of hers, though it was strange to see her in it. It had black lace panelling at the shoulders, and that was a little more familiar, somehow - not that he’d ever seen her wear lace before. Just the color of it, probably. More familiar than the white.

Four times, he suddenly realized. Not three. They’d kissed four times. Did she know that? Had she counted, too?

Belle ordered the lasagna, because she hadn’t had it in ages, she said. He ordered the same, because he didn’t care one jot about the food, and he didn’t have the patience to go through the menu and pick something else. The conversation took a little while to move past the menu (which he hadn’t even properly looked at, so he wasn’t being a very thrilling conversationalist) but then the lasagna arrived. It was when they were waiting for it to cool down from its lava-like temperature that their words began to flow a little more easily.

“How did it go with Sidney?”

“Great, actually! We're starting with the book reviews, but he's going to keep an eye out for events he wants me to report on. You know, cultural stuff. Local art festivals and stuff like that. And he said there’s gonna be a spot opening for a full-time thing, soon. Someone could be retiring, I think, and it would just be proofreading and editing and stuff. I’m sort of nervous cause I’ve only ever worked in retail before, but I’m excited, too!”

She told him all of that, barely pausing for breath, gesticulating excitedly with one hand and prodding her half forgotten lasagna with her fork with the other, while Gold could do little more than sit there, nod, and try not to laugh at her enthusiasm and the frequency with which she resorted to the word ‘stuff.’

“I’m sure you’ll do great. The man knows what’s best for his paper. He wouldn’t have offered you anything if he didn’t have faith in your skills.”

“Well, we’ll see,” she said with a little shrug and an unsure smile. “It’s not a sure thing yet, anyway. That job, I mean.”

“But he’ll let you write on a freelance basis?”

“Yeah!” And then, lowering her voice just a touch, she added, “Actually, I could have sworn his rates were a little lower before I mentioned you.”

“So you _did_ bring me up.”

She stayed silent for a little while, watching him with a small, knowing grin. “I was kidding about the rates.”

“Oh.”

Gold didn’t know how to feel about that. Relieved? Disappointed? Meanwhile, Belle looked some sort of strange mixture of intrigued and amused, and he couldn’t help but feel a little bit nervous, now.

“But I did mention you towards the end of our meeting,” she continued, prodding the still steaming lasagna with her fork absently, “and it got an interesting reaction.”

Gold swallowed.

“Did it?”

She smirked and gave him a little nod. “He seemed surprised my run-ins with you weren’t… traumatic.”

Oh dear.

“Really?”

Well, he was definitely daft for not considering this might happen when he first suggested she namedrop him, but there was no need to panic; she was still smiling. She was just teasing him, then, probably. He deserved it, too, for suggesting his name carried some weight in this irrelevant little town, for one, and for heading into this with far more confidence than was warranted, too.

“It seems you have a bit of a reputation.”

“And what reputation might that be?” he asked with as cool a smile as he could manage with his chest burning unpleasantly hot.

“See, that’s the interesting part. Sidney wouldn’t elaborate. Got me mighty curious.”

It was a question, not a statement, and though she spoke it softly, it rang louder in his ears than any other sound in the busy din of the diner - the klutz in the booth behind them dropping his dessert spoon to the tiled floor with a hissed _‘Fuck’_ included. Neither of them flinched.

“I don’t just own the pawn shop. I own a bit of property around town.”

“And?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“And… I suppose no-one likes the landlord,” he muttered.

“Really? Is that it?” she asked, her mask of amused interest falling away to make place for something a little more like complete disbelief with a touch of -

No… Was he reading that right? Was that _disappointment?_

“Did you grow a wee bit attached to the idea of me as a crime lord?” Gold teased, raising a single eyebrow.

“No!” she replied, her grinning face just a touch more red than before. “But why the reputation, then? Why were those people over there staring earlier, like I walked in here with a real live wolf?”

Gold followed her quick nod towards a table near the door. He did indeed recognize a man seated there, though he was trying his very best not to make eye contact now. Just a tenant whose… less than legal agricultural side business kept tripping the circuit breaker in the apartment building he owned before he convinced him to restrain his entrepreneurial spirit considerably. The fellow ought to have been pleased to see him, really. Anyone else might have comported himself differently. Someone else might have done more than merely suggest that there were dozens of takers for his nice little top floor apartment should the current occupier end up behind bars.

“No idea,” he replied dryly, noting with some interest that her stare had grown a little darker. “Perhaps my stomach growled right as I passed by.”

“Do you hike up rent every chance you get?” she asked, unconvinced and undeterred. “Kick people out when rent’s only a day late and then change the locks?”

Gold jerked his head back in exaggerated bafflement, like her words had slapped him back in his seat. “Course not. That wouldn’t do anyone any good. No tenants, no rent. People aren’t exactly champing at the bit to move into this little town.”

“Well, I didn’t really think that’s what you did. I wouldn’t be sitting here otherwise.”

That dark look in her eyes earlier made him think a little differently, actually, but perhaps that was more of a subconscious thing.

“But you have this… aura. And when he heard your name, Sidney’s body language changed completely, like I got out a gun from my purse and put it on the table. Or maybe not a gun. A stack of money, maybe. I don’t know. But there’s clearly something about you, and I’m just curious what it is.”

“If I told you -”

She cut him off with a sudden giggle. Shaking her head, she told him, “I don’t care if the end of that sentence is ‘I’d have to kill you.’ I still want to know.”

“I’m terribly sorry to disappoint, but that wasn’t what I was going to say. It’ll definitely be an anticlimax, now.”

Her stare was unwavering, her shrug a little childish and entirely charming. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

Oh, dear. He’d sneaked her right past his own sentries and over the moat, sidling along the walls with his arm around her waist, right to the very heart of his castle. And he didn’t even realize until just then. In all the time he had spent with her so far, he hadn’t even considered pulling up the drawbridge.

Well, she was in, now. Might as well give her the tour.

“I’ve cultivated a certain image over the years,” he sighed, pausing to clear his throat, “to make the whole landlord business go smoothly. It’s not something I particularly enjoy; collecting rent, sorting out rental agreements. So I never indulge in any small talk or pleasantries with the tenants. Never any smiles, unless they’re of the sinister, vaguely threatening kind. I do my best to appear… unfriendly. It’s all just barking.”

She had been watching him closely, her bright, busy eyes fluttering over his face as if to catch every little twitch of his facial muscles just in case there was hidden meaning there.

“No biting?”

He smirked.

“Not even a nibble. There’s no need. The rumors are mostly baseless, but they make the rounds nonetheless. I hardly have to do anything these days; it’s a very low upkeep strategy. I just don’t actively attempt to convince people that I’m not a Dickensian antagonist, and that’s all there is to it. It’s good for business.”

Belle made a pensive humming sound and leaned forward, folding her arms on the edge of the table, minding her plate. When she narrowed her eyes, all of that beautiful bright blue almost disappeared completely, for a moment. She was _scrutinizing_ him! Gold pretended to be completely unaffected by her fierce, sharp stare and the little twitch of a smirk at the corner of her mouth.

“That wasn’t anticlimactic,” she decided after a few tense seconds of silence. “Not really. I hope you don’t think I was hoping you’d reveal yourself to be a serial killer, or a ruthless loan shark.”

“Oh? What were you hoping for, then?”

She shrugged and flashed a curious smile. “I wasn’t hoping for anything. I just wanted to know your secret.”

Gold had been about to say something utterly clichéd and ask for a secret in return when suddenly she laughed. The sound was lovely and it made him smile, but he felt that it would sound even lovelier if he knew what on earth it was that had tickled her so.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, right before bringing another forkful of the more or less half decent lasagna up to his lips. He wasn’t sure if now was a good time to put food in his mouth, just having asked her that question and all, but dropping it back in his plate would look weird, wouldn’t it? In it went, then.

Belle, meanwhile, had sat back in her seat, crossed her arms and with a smirk that sent his heart beating a little faster, mused, “I’m just wondering how long it takes the average person to see right through your scary guy act and realize you’re all bark. Ten minutes? Do you check your fancy golden watch every few minutes and make some feeble excuse to leave when time’s almost up, so you don’t accidentally say or do something nice?”

Gold’s eyes widened, and it took another of her giggles for him to realize that he had frozen mid-chew. Her smirk had blossomed into a victorious grin, now, and as he finished swallowing his mouthful, shaking his head and smirking down into his plate, Gold wondered where on earth those nerves of her had run off to. She was all jumpy and self-doubting earlier, and now she was merrily tearing down the few walls he hadn’t sneaked her past already.

“First of all, you haven’t _seen_ the ‘scary guy’ act. Secondly, I seem to remember you thought I was a crime lord, and that was well after ten minutes of conversation,” he said, wiping the corners of his mouth with a napkin.

“Did not!” she cried out, trying to pout but failing miserably due to her all-conquering grin. “I just thought you had the look. Besides, crime lords aren’t scary. They don’t scare me, at least.”

Oh, how smug she sounded. How tempting the lilt of her voice, trying to lure him out to play. Well, if she was getting bolder, surely he could do the same. Only fair.

“Is that all of them, dear?” he teased, leaning in a little closer and conjuring up his best devilish smirk. “Or just the charming ones in expensive suits?”

She hadn’t expected _that_ little reference to her sweet, slightly clumsy flirting back in that dreadful shop of hers, he could tell. Slowly, deliberately, Belle sat up straight in her seat, eyebrows raised. She pushed her shoulders back and became a little taller. She bit her lip to fight a smile.

Gold allowed himself a subdued little chuckle.

Then, with her voice a curious, quiet little mewl, she remarked, “So you _did_ pick up on it.”

Difficult not to, in hindsight.

“A little. But I didn’t want to presume.”

“ _I_ picked up on it.”

The quirk of her eyebrow felt like a bullet to his gut, but in a good way, which was possible, apparently.

“But you seemed careful, too,” she added, her expression softening, her shoulders drooping until she looked a little less like a small but fierce and curiously doe-eyed predator about to strike. “Like you weren’t sure if you should.”

The mood changed then; from playful and ever so slightly hostile in the friendliest possible way, to something that made Gold relax his shoulders, too. It felt a little bit like their morning conversations in her shop, when they were still very careful with one another. When she hadn’t yet bulldozed over steps one through five. When all bets were still on.

She waited for an answer with a patient smile, bringing a forkful of lasagna up to her lips.

“I didn’t want to be a terrible stereotype, mistaking your basic professional responsibilities for flirting.”

With her mouth full of lasagna, she couldn’t respond right away - and he could tell she wanted to quite urgently, because her eyes sprung open wide and she made some sort of _Mmph!_ sound as she chewed. Gold couldn’t help but laugh with her struggle.

“Oh, but I was!” she assured him once she’d swallowed her mouthful. “Flirting, I mean. _Consciously_ since I knew you weren’t married, but I know I might have, uh…”

Oh, no. She wasn’t going to get away with leaving her sentences tantalizingly unfinished today. Not this one, at least. Gold sat back, raised his eyebrows and pressed his lips together tight to make that abundantly clear. It did the trick.

“I might have swooned a bit that first time we met,” she admitted, a shy smile on her face that made his bones feel oddly gelatinous.

“Oh? Was there swooning?” he laughed softly, trying his very best not to sound as affected as he was by that revelation. “Wish I’d noticed.”

“I thought there was, but I guess I managed to contain myself, then. Good! That’s good, really good, cause…”

She sighed and looked back down at her plate, fingers visibly tightening around her fork.

“Cause I kind of threw myself at you in your shop, didn’t I?” she hurried in a single sigh. “Good to know I wasn’t completely out of control right from the start.”

“Out of control? Because you kissed me?”

She _had_ thrown herself at him quite literally with that last kiss, but he knew that wasn’t what she meant. Her face had gone a bit red again. She nodded.

“I didn’t plan on it. On kissing you,” Belle murmured. “I was just going to show you the paper and then ask you out. But, uh…”

She closed her eyes for a second, laughed quietly to herself and shrugged.

“I don’t know. I wasn’t sure if I was going to find you this morning, so I was really happy when I did. Bit too excited, you know? And then suddenly we were much closer than I thought we would be, and I just… caved, I guess.”

Belle fell silent, her eyes cast up at the ceiling, her lips pursed in thought as she tasted the words on her tongue for a little while. And then she nodded and looked right back at him, smiling.

“Yeah. I caved. I can be a bit impulsive sometimes.”

She’d gone right back to nervous and ever so slightly flustered, and Gold felt every atom of his being shift shape just to accommodate her. If she became brittle, he had to become softer. No more teasing, at least for a little while. She seemed too serious for that. Too concerned.

“Please tell me you’re not about to apologize for kissing me. I definitely didn’t mind. I thought that much was obvious.”

“No, I got that! Eventually!” she giggled. The temporary break from her vulnerable look like the sun coming out from behind perfect white clouds on a windy day made him smile, but then her face grew serious again. “What I mean is, I did _want_ to kiss you, but my original plan was to just ask you out, cause I know you have your son to think about. I know you need to be careful.”

It was very tempting to tease her for having a plan - she needn’t know he had one too - but then the rest of her sentence confused him. Gold shot her a puzzled look.

“Neal’s at school right now.”

Belle’s eyes grew the size of saucers, and then she burst out in laughter. “No, I know!” she giggled again, a silent _you precious idiot_ tacked on, judging from the tone of her voice. “I just meant, like, dating in general when you have kids has got to be tricky. You can’t just rush into these things. Right?”

“Oh! Oh, alright. Okay, I see what you mean, now. Right. Yes.”

Tricky? He supposed it must be, though he’d never given it a proper try. None that counted, anyway. But he didn’t want to say that. He couldn’t. He’d be giving rather a lot away if he did. God, but this was a difficult subject, wasn’t it? The conversation had ground to a halt, and the tepid remnants of his lasagna proved but a meagre excuse to remain silent as he collected his thoughts on the matter.

It took him two more bites and a bit of awkward smiling to realize that what Belle was doing was paddling safely, subtly as she could, back to the shallow end of the pool mere hours after launching herself at him and dragging him down into the deep end with her. He’d rather enjoyed his near-drowning experience that morning, but it was very sensible of her to swim to safety. He would do well to follow her lead, even though the lasagna now had a slightly bitter aftertaste. A bit like what disappointment might taste like, if it had a taste at all.

_Be sensible._

“You’re right,” he said with a little smile. “The fact remains I didn’t mind. On the contrary; I seem to remember kissing _you_. Twice, I think, so I do believe I threw myself right back at you.”

She bit her lip and grinned at him, nodding as if to confirm the number.

“But you’re right, and I understand if you want to slow down. Rewind, even. I can’t honestly say I’ll endeavor to forget about those kisses, because I don’t think that’s possible and I’m not sure I would ever want to, but I can pretend. If you like.”

She almost sounded a bit outraged when she all but cried out, “I don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen! Just…”

“Just rein things in a bit,” he offered.

“Yes,” she said with a serious nod. But then her eyes flew open wide and she hurriedly added, “Not because I don’t want to kiss you! Cause I do! And it was great! _You’re_ … great, but… I’ve never dated anyone with kids before. I have no idea what I’m doing and I don’t want to do anything stupid.”

“Kid. Singular. Just the one.”

Gold reached out to touch the tips of her fingers as they flicked the edge of her napkin anxiously. Her fingers were warm. His almost never were. She didn’t seem to mind. The touch stilled her fidgeting, and she didn’t pull away.

“Right. Yeah,” she murmured absently, looking down at their hands and smiling.

He didn’t want to admit to it earlier, but she was so nervous again. So unsure. And he rather liked her nervous, but only for the right reasons. Because he’d alluded to his non-existent criminal activities, for example, or reminded her of her flirting back in the store. Not like this.

“And… I don’t really know what I’m doing either, to be honest.”

It wasn’t easy to get those words out, but it was worth it. Belle perked up completely and pulled her fingers back only so she could place her warm hand firmly on top of his instead.

“Really? I don’t know if that’s weird of me to say, but that’s such a relief. I… I was scared I was making a complete fool of myself.”

“Not at all,” he told her gravely, shaking his head.

She took her hand back to grab her iced tea, but she didn’t drink right away. Instead, she sat back, played with the straw in her drink and made the ice cubes _clink_ pleasantly against the glass.

“The only thing I know is - … Well, I looked it up, and - … I mean, I read somewhere… like, ages ago - not recently or anything - that you kind of have to sneak around, first.”

Oh, God, now _this_. He’d been genuinely convinced he couldn’t possibly be any more enamored with her, but then the girl had to go and reveal herself to be a terrible liar.

Terrible liars were something of a weakness of his. He always wanted to sit the poor creatures down, give them a cup of tea and a nice biscuit, and walk them through every mistake they made. Every word they had stumbled over, every inconsistency in their story, and every physical and vocal tell - from the minuscule to the flagrant. How to do better next time. How to pick their battles. He admired their spirit, delighted in that little tremble in their voices, absolutely loved the naked look of hope and desperation in their wide eyes.

(The young man with the very impressive marihuana side business who had just paid and left, for instance, was saved by Gold’s secret fondness for this particular kind of ineptitude. Three electrical blankets, he said. That’s what kept blowing the fuses, he said. He got so very chilly at night in his extremely well-insulated and well-heated apartment, in the middle of June - and that smell was incense, Mr Gold, _clearly_ it was incense. The boy had given it such a bloody good try, Gold decided to call off the cavalry after all.)

But that hopeful, slightly panicked look was much, much more endearing on Belle, and infinitely more effective at reducing him to a living, breathing, warm mass of fondness, capable of little more than smiling and nodding.

“Did you?”

“Yes. In a magazine, I think.”

She said it a wee bit too firmly, and her chin lifted just a little bit higher as if her body was subconsciously awaiting him to challenge her on the matter. Gold’s insides were well and truly turned to jelly at that point. He couldn’t have stopped smiling even if he’d tried.

“That makes sense.”

The sneaking around, that was. Not her little story about when and how she’d gotten the information.

“I think I might have heard something to that extent, myself, about taking care not to rush any introductions, but I think I prefer your wording. Sneaking around, was it?”

That needless little lie of hers had turned her cheeks red, but she was far more relaxed, now that she knew he wasn’t going to poke and prod and get her to admit she’d looked up the best way to _date him_ before she came to see him.

“Are you a very sneaky man?”

“Oh, really,” he laughed, feeling the laughter fizz up from deep in his belly. “Is there even a right answer to that question?”

She grinned and sat back in her seat again, shrugging as if to say _‘You’re on your own!’_

“Alright, I suppose I could walk right into that trap, if you like.”

“Please do.”

“I only recently found out my son’s had a girlfriend for several months, now. Does that qualify as sneaky?”

“I think it does, but how is that an answer to my question?”

“Well. It might be genetic.”

Belle threw her head back in laughter, very generously giving him a moment to admire her pretty neck as the muscles pulled taut under thin skin.

“Yeah, alright,” she said, grinning broadly. “I’ll take that for an answer. Bit worrisome, but alright.”

“Worrisome? I only use my powers for good. Well, for personal gain, really, but more often than not those two things align.”

Her sigh made for a stark contrast with her incontrollable smile as she reached for the menu, shaking her head.

“You are _so_ full of it.”

“You don’t seem to mind,” he remarked softly, noticing the blush on her face hadn’t subsided yet, and neither had her smile. It looked so genuine he felt it warm his bones.

She paused and stared at him for a few seconds while his heart stopped in his chest and dropped down into the very pit of his stomach, because it really, truly hit him, then. The reality of it. That somehow, miraculously, this girl seemed to like him. Somehow, his words and his actions made her blush, made her flirt, made her draw a little heart for him and made her kiss him. He got a bit light-headed, really, just thinking about it. But in a good way. A brilliant way.

“Maybe I don’t. But only because you’re getting me dessert,” she said, hiding her smirk behind the menu and peering over the edge with blue eyes twinkling with mischief. Another adorable attempt at a lie. “Aren’t you?”

He would buy her an entire bloody patisserie if he thought she would accept it.

“Shall we get it to go? It’s getting rather crowded in here. Not the best environment for sneaking.”

“Good thinking.”

They got two big slices of cake and two coffees to go. She liked hers with milk and two sugars - a little fact he committed to memory immediately for future reference. He walked her to his shop, where they settled at a plastic garden table in the little courtyard out back, on two wooden chairs they dragged out from the back room.

“Careful with that,” he warned her when he saw her put her cup up to her lips. “Granny’s coffee stays scalding for longer than is strictly natural.”

“Oh, thanks. I’ll give it a few more minutes, then.”

Two small birds fluttered and chirped their way onto the concrete wall that separated his little courtyard from the alley behind his shop. They turned their little heads this way and that, and flew off with panicked chatter once they noticed the two giants sitting at the table.

“This is a nice little place. Do you take your breaks here?”

“Sometimes. Not usually,” he replied, taking a look around in an attempt to figure out what exactly she liked about this place. The large tiles were uneven and damaged in places. Grass grew up wherever it could; little splotches of green between slabs of grey, filling in cracks - a bit of color where it was sorely lacking. The plastic table needed a good wash, at least, or to be replaced with something a little less cheap, ideally.

When his gaze travelled back to Belle, he saw that she had angled her chair towards the sun and closed her eyes to bask in its warmth, her small hands wrapped around her large coffee in her lap. Her little nose ring shone prettily in the early afternoon sun. When she crossed one leg over the other, her skirt fell back just a little bit to reveal more pale skin. It looked very soft. He imagined she would catch color soon, now that spring was in full swing.

Jesus, actually, those legs were gorgeous. He found himself having to look away. It was like looking directly into the sun, if the sun could threaten to make a man’s blood travel to ill-advised places.

The cake, then. Better get started on the cake.

“D’you like the outfit?” she asked, cracking one eye open and then the other to smile at him. “Got it just for today. It wasn’t exactly a job interview but I figured I probably shouldn’t show up in a t-shirt, anyway.”

He slid her paper plate and cake over to her side of the table, then scooped up a bit of frosting from his own piece with his plastic fork.

“Yes. You look… Yes. I like it,” he mumbled, suddenly aware that this might be dangerous conversational territory.

“More than my usual outfits?”

Dangerous indeed. He could only hope that the frosting might make his words sound sweeter, even if he picked the wrong ones.

“They’re very different looks, so it’s difficult to compare. But I liked those too, definitely.”

“Did you really?” she laughed in a deeper voice, clearly unbelieving.

“Yes, of course! I’m not going to pretend to know anything about that kind of… fashion, but it looked good on you. I do know that.”

Belle brought an impressive chunk of cake up to her mouth, silver tongue stud glinting in the sun right before she shoveled the cake in. And then she chewed and she smiled, but she was scanning his face for a hidden truth again. For a sign that he was lying. No, she really didn’t believe him, and Gold could tell.

He wished he could explain to her exactly why he really did love those ripped tights on her, that tartan skirt, those tight band shirts that rode up a little and revealed a sliver of tantalizing skin whenever she reached for something, and that ragged leather jacket in particular - dear _God_ , that thing would haunt him for the rest of his days.

“But this makes me look older, yeah?” she asked once her mouth was empty again.

“Ah… Uh.”

She giggled, the sound echoing, bouncing off stone and concrete, making him want to giggle, too. “Not a trick question,” she told him with a kind smile, reaching over to put a reassuring hand on his arm for a moment. He wished he’d taken his jacket off. It was warm, here in the sun, and he’d barely felt that touch.

“Oh! Alright,” he laughed in relief. “Then yes. A bit. Perhaps.”

Gold shoved a huge chunk of cake in his mouth in the hopes that it would inspire Belle to stop asking him these tricky questions. In a way, it did, because she followed his lead and took another bite of hers.

Chewing in silence was a bit awkward. But for now, not knowing what other questions she had in store for him, awkward chewing was just fine by him.

“I’m 27,” she remarked quietly after a while, reaching for her almost forgotten coffee.

“Mhm, Jefferson decided I needed to know,” he said a little absently, distracted once more by the muscles of her neck as she drank.

But then she almost spat out her coffee.

“Oh God, he told you how old I was?” she cried, eyes nearly popping out of her skull. “Just like that?”

Gold chuckled deeply and nodded. “Out of nowhere, as if he knew I was a little worried.”

“Jefferson, honestly…” she sighed, bringing her palm up to her forehead in despair. She peeked at him between her fingers and quietly asked him, “Did he drop hints?”

“I think he did, yeah. One or two.”

“When I called him to let him know you might drop by, I might have…” She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial murmur and continued, “I might have told him I fancied you.”

“That _would_ explain it.”

She was fighting down an embarrassed grin, and it was such a lovely sight he couldn’t even bring himself to spare her his thoroughly appreciative smirk.

“In all seriousness, though, I was wondering… Does it bother you? The age difference?”

“No,” he replied firmly.

Belle sighed as if she’d just saw him miss the wrong wire on a time bomb with a sharp pair of scissors by a hair’s breadth, and it was only then that Gold realized that he hadn’t been the only one worried about age.

There were things to consider, of course. Important things that he would be a fool to underestimate or brush aside just like that, and what he meant by _things_ was mostly just Neal, really, but…

Perhaps he wasn’t thinking straight - smitten as he was; positively intoxicated by her words, her looks, her touches, but now that he’d felt her lips against his, _no_ was the only answer he had. No, it didn’t bother him.

“Well, not if you don’t mind,” he added, for clarity’s sake. “Do you?”

“On the contrary,” Belle mewled, bringing her coffee up to her lips to hide her grin.

Gold raised his eyebrows and chuckled, “Whatever do you mean by that?”

Just then, the bell sounded from the front of the shop. It was a soft, subtle chime and it had travelled far, but Gold could never fail to notice his trusty little bell.

Unfortunately.

“Forgot to turn the sign when I left,” he groaned as he pushed himself up from his chair, making sure not to put too much weight on the rickety plastic table and finally snap that one table leg that had been threatening to give up entirely for some time now. “So sorry about this. Just a second.”

“Take your time!”

He limped his way through the back room, coming to a halt in the doorway leading to the front of the shop, where a man who looked to be in his sixties was about to touch a porcelain figurine Gold had hoped was so obviously fragile it wouldn’t need a _don’t touch_ note stuck to its base.

“We’re closed, I’m afraid,” he said, just loud enough to make the man jump and snatch his hand back. “Lunch.”

“Lunch? But… it’s way past -”

“And yet: lunch.”

“But the sign said you’re open.”

“Mea culpa. Flip the sign on your way out, would you, sir? Thank you very much.”

“But -”

“Very sorry for the inconvenience. Goodbye!”

Gold didn’t wait to see him walk out of his shop. Instead, he turned around and made his way back to her, smiling when he heard the distinct sound of his sign being flipped, and the bell chiming one more time.

“You just shooed out a customer!” Belle gasped, trying to look serious and failing miserably.

“We simply haven’t enough cake,” he said, sitting himself down next to her again. “Now, tell me, _’on the contrary’,_ you said. What did you mean by that?”

Her great big grin melted into a smaller, more contained smile, but her eyes were still full of laughter. “If I’d ever turned away a customer like that, I would have been fired so fast,” she muttered.

“What can I say? I have a fantastic boss.”

She snorted, then looked immediately and gravely embarrassed about it. Gold smiled and pressed on.

“What did you mean, earlier?”

Belle took her time to answer. She uncrossed her legs only to cross them again, one leg over the other, skirt shifting over her bare legs. She sighed and picked up a little crumb from her paper plate, flicking it between her parted lips. He caught another flash of silver in the process. That bloody piercing was going to be a _thing_ soon, at this rate.

“Just, y’know, that I’m sure you were a very handsome man in your twenties, too, but for the sake of my sanity, I can’t allow myself to think you were ever any handsomer than you are right now. I don’t think I could take it.”

Oh, good God. That was more than he’d bargained for. He felt his face begin to heat up. Fuck. Was he about to blush? Ah, fuck, he was about to blush, wasn’t he.

“I can’t even imagine it, actually,” she teased, her voice suddenly dripping with _something_ , like honey. Honey seemed about right. “Kind of like trying to wrap your head around the concept of an infinite universe.”

Oh, good God. Blushing, and she knew it. She wouldn’t let up with her stare, either - just pinning him down in his seat with nothing more than her impossibly blue eyes and her devilish grin.

He couldn’t take it anymore. Gold burst out in laughter, muffled because he couldn’t resist the overwhelming urge to hide his face behind his hands. Hot to the touch. Mirth bubbled in his belly, even more so when she joined in with her own giggles.

“Flatterer,” was all he could manage once he’d gotten over the worst of it. When he looked at her, she was blurry through the tears of laughter, but he could tell that she was smiling.

“Drink your coffee,” she said, bringing her own cup up to her pretty lips. “The temperature’s just right.”

A little while later, whatever this was couldn’t be called lunch anymore, really. The cake and coffee was gone and the kettle was bubbling in the back room, two empty cups with a bag of black tea each waiting on the counter. This was just keeping each other company, melting seconds and minutes into moments and spending them together because they wanted to.

When he heard the telltale _click_ of the water having come to a boil, Gold quickly went into the front of the shop to lock the door, just in case some rude individual decided to ignore the closed sign anyway. He came back with their tea and the whole box of sugar cubes because he forgot to ask her how many she usually took. Belle a soft sound that sounded a lot like a stifled giggle, and took three.

“What do you like to do for fun?” she asked, delicately dunking the corner of a sugar cube in her tea, letting the liquid seep in, and only dropping it when the amber color almost reached her fingers. “I know it’s kind of a tired question. Sorry.”

“No, it’s a very good one! I just, uh, I don’t think I can give an interesting answer to that.”

“Shall I go first, then?” she asked, reaching for her second sugar cube. “My answer’ll be much less interesting than yours, you’ll see.”

“Alright. Go ahead. Bore me.”

When she snorted this time, she didn’t seem as embarrassed, and it warmed him to see that.

“I read a ton, obviously,” she started, dropping the second cube in her tea. “There’s a bar near my apartment where local bands perform sometimes, so when I go out, it’s usually there. Not that often, though, lately. I watch a lot of TV, too, and… And that’s actually pretty much it. See? Not interesting at all.”

“My turn then, is it?” he asked with the air of a reluctant school boy introducing himself on the first day of school. Ms French, firm but kind and always generous when scoring tests, nodded to urge him on.

“I read too, but not as much as you, undoubtedly. Other than that…”

Fuck. He’d run out of things already, and that wasn’t even a good one, was it?

“God I'm boring,” he sighed, leaning back in his chair and shaking his head.

“You're not! What do you like to do every day? I know you like coffee and tea. Those things count! Just, anything you enjoy. Anything at all.”

“Well, in that case, I suppose I like to cook.”

“See, that's not boring! What else? Do you like movies? Watch a lot of TV?”

“I do like documentaries and history programs,” he admitted quietly, the words sounding painfully dull even to his own ears, because wow, fuck. Excellent move. Seduce the girl with promises of deadly boring Sunday afternoons watching grainy black and white footage of horrible dictators shouting horrible things at a horribly un-horrified audience. He didn’t even _like_ that stuff. Hated it more than he did those shark botherers, even.

He considered taking it back. If he was quick about it, he could pretend was only joking, trying to one-up her in this contest to see whose interests had the most potential for curing insomnia, but before he could open his mouth to execute that terrible strategy (thankfully), Belle finished stirring her third sugar into her tea and chimed in:

“Me too.”

Gold frowned and with one elbow on the plastic garden table leaned in a bit closer, strongly doubting that he’d heard her correctly.

“Really?”

“Yeah! I like the ones where they find really old mummies or skeletons and try to reconstruct their lives with all the stuff they were buried with.”

“Those are good,” he replied quietly, bemused and still a little shocked that she hadn’t fallen into a deep tedium-induced slumber at the mere thought.

“What are your favorites?”

“Oh, anything where they find lots of art, or jewelry, or coins is good. I like when they salvage old shipwrecks or excavate ruins.”

“Those are so much fun,” she agreed. Belle had been nodding as she listened, a steady smile on her face. She took a delicate sip from her tea and reminded him to see to his own.

“I like a bit of historical political intrigue, too. Can’t go wrong with blood feuds and poisoned wine.”

“Very true!”

“As for - … This is going to sound pathetic if I don’t assure you first that I absolutely don’t mind, but, uh… I don’t have many friends.”

“Because you have to pretend you’re scary. Right?”

“Right,” he replied. “Well, because I _am_ scary, but yes.”

Belle just narrowed her eyes a little bit and smirked, but he knew exactly what it was she wanted to say: He wasn’t scary. Half the town would disagree, but Belle French had decided that he wasn’t scary, just because she’d kissed him and he hadn’t bitten her in return.

“I mean I don’t have a busy social life. The only thing I do somewhat regularly - other than aimless walks, I suppose - is antique markets. Flea markets. To find things for the shop. I’m afraid I’m a dreadful bore, Belle.”

She’d put her tea up to her lips but it didn’t look as if she was drinking. Her eyebrows rose slowly, and when she lowered her cup, there was a smile waiting for him.

“You’re a treasure hunter.”

Gold frowned and leaned in closer again, utterly confused.

“I’m a what?”

“You’re a treasure hunter! You go looking for valuable things, yeah?”

“Well, I… Yes, I suppose I do, but -”

“Ah ah ah!” she sang, raising her hand and silencing him with surprising ease. That school teacher comparison hadn’t been too far off. “You go places with the express purpose of procuring precious things, and that makes you a treasure hunter. Sorry, I don’t make the rules!”

“Well, it… it - ” he chuckled, running his fingers through his hair, a little flustered because he knew it was almost time. “It certainly does have a ring to it.”

“It’s a lot more interesting than what I get up to when I go out, I promise you. Loud music, cheap beer, friends going missing halfway through the night. Gets a bit same-y.”

“I’m not so sure about that, because I’ve always been partial to a pint myself, but, uh…”

Almost time. He had to ask her now. Neal would be home, soon. And although he knew Belle liked him - God knows why - the nerves had crept up on him, and now they were hanging heavy on his back, leaning over his shoulder, sending chills down his spine and conjuring up tightness in his throat.

“Alright?” she asked, leaning forward to put her hand on his wrist.

Warm. Soft. Definitely helped. Gold glanced up at her eyes, fully expecting them to make him even more nervous, but she looked at him so sweetly, so full of concern, smiling so gently that he found that he could cast off the strange beast on his back, now, just by smiling back and straightening his shoulders again.

She liked him.

“Yes. Yes, I’m fine,” he said, nodding firmly to himself. “Actually, what I meant to say was that some of those flea markets are a bookworm's paradise.”

He’d expected a positive reaction, sure, but not for her mouth to drop open and a very short but _very_ clear high-pitched sound to come flying out. Gold sniggered, and Belle started to turn red again, coughing as if to retroactively cover up that odd little sound.

“Great big crates full of books,” he added, even though she looked plenty convinced already, “cheap as they come.”

She had the same look on her face as when the lasagna arrived.

“That sounds… so, so good.”

And she said _that_ as if she was talking about the cake, which was bloody delicious, actually. He stole a crumb off Belle’s plate and smiled.

“If you’re interested, I’d like to take you some time.”

“I’d love to!”

Gold had hooked himself a bookworm.

“There's a good one nearby this Sunday morning. It’s not that big, but I always see plenty of books, there. Would that work for you?”

“Sunday? Yeah!”

“Plenty of time to work out the details.”

She was beaming at him, and perhaps it was his imagination, but then again, it really did look like she was sneaking glances at his lips, now, and it only made him do the same. Her soft pink lips, slightly sticky with lipgloss that tasted a bit like strawberry. He found that out when he licked his lips after she left his shop that morning.

Reining it in meant no more kisses, didn’t it?

Why on earth had he agreed to that?

Right. Neal.

It took Gold every ounce of strength to bring himself to tell her he needed to get home to get started on supper. Neal ate early on Mondays to make it to his art class on time, and if he didn’t fix him something proper to eat before, he would just come home with a half eaten bag of crisps, as teenage boys are wont to do.

But she understood, she said. And as he walked her to her car, parked near the town hall, she snaked her arm around his and pulled herself closer. Every inch of his body grew warmer with that sweet, gentle gesture. They walked slowly, not saying very much at all. They’d done a lot of talking, the pair of them, and though there was much more to be said, the silence was good. Not at all uncomfortable.

“We’re not being very sneaky right now,” she said, squeezing his arm.

“I don’t care. I’m being far sneakier than I’d like,” he muttered in reply, making her stifle a giggle.

Her car was a dreadful old rusty thing, the sight of which sent an unpleasant shiver down his spine. A powder blue color, except for all the rust, of course, and one of the doors was off-white. Obvious replacement. This thing was supposed to keep her safe in traffic?

But then she leaned back against the car door, playing with the zipper of her jacket, giving him a coy smile. Suddenly it didn’t look like such an awful car anymore.

“Would it be alright if I dropped by the shop on Thursday? I’ll be in town for Sidney again. Lunch?”

“Sounds lovely.”

“Good. Sunday’s so far away.”

Yes, it was. It was very far away. So was Thursday.

The wind was blowing a little stronger than before, and Belle had to pull her blue hair away from her eyes.

“I can’t remember half the things I told you today,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I know we teased each other a lot. But I don’t think I told you that I like you.”

Gold took a few steps closer. She was pulling him towards her, somehow. Even with her arms hanging by her sides. She was reeling him in, and he was willing.

“You are just…”

Whatever word he was looking for got stuck in his throat, and he swallowed to dislodge it, but it was gone for good. Perhaps for the better. Rein it in.

Close enough to touch, now, Gold returned her smile and told her, “I like you too. A lot.”

“That’s a relief,” she giggled, a hint of that nervousness of before making her voice almost quiver. “Be kind of awkward if you didn’t.”

He brushed his fingers against her neck, the pad of his thumb past her jaw. Her lips moved ever so slightly, as if she wanted to say something. But when he looked into her eyes to make sure, the movements stopped.

So he leaned in and kissed her cheek, just missing the corner of her mouth. Her hand found his, clutching the handle of his cane, and squeezed tight, and then she returned the kiss. Soft lips pressed firmly against his cheek, leaving a burning feeling that stayed with him even as he watched her drive off in that rust bucket of hers.

Surprisingly, the engine didn’t sound as if it was on its last legs. Or wheels. Whichever. That was a relief.

And then he walked home, smiling to himself, trying to think about dinner but failing completely because numbers, you see:

They’d kissed four times. Belle was twenty-seven and not twenty-one. He had her phone number. He had her first and last name. He had a second date on Sunday, and a third one three days before - in the order in which they were agreed upon. He had a sixteen-year-old who loved having the house to himself, and not a six-year-old who needed a babysitter.

Numbers didn’t keep her away anymore, but that was alright.


	5. Black Forest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More cake and coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you know that MADtv Gilmore Girls parody where they pretty much replace every verb in the theme song with 'talk'? Yeah, I'm so sorry.
> 
> This is a shorter chapter. I very rarely manage them, though I probably should. When I do, it's usually one half of a larger chapter that I split in two because the narrative allowed it, and also because I'm a mess. So this is just an extra chapter in the sense that it wasn't supposed to be split up, but the total word count will be the same. Probably. Who knows. Not me. Send help.
> 
> Also, thank you. You guys are awesome and you make me smile. <3

In his shop that Thursday, seeing Belle’s name flash on his cellphone’s screen made him think for a terrifying second that she’d called to cancel. Everything. The whole damn thing. This despite the fact that she’d called to confirm the night before, marking the first time Gold had ever interrupted his dinner to take a call out in the garden, confusing his son somewhat, no doubt. Well, probably. He didn’t know for sure, because when he came back inside after a chat that lasted longer than it felt, Neal had finished his dinner and had gone up to his room. His own dinner abandoned and gone long cold.

He took a few seconds to inwardly mock himself back into some semblance of a grown man and chase the nervous, unsure part of himself back into hiding, then picked up.

“Belle! Hey!”

“Hi! Red Velvet or Black Forest?”

“Ah… I’m sorry?”

“Oh, right! Context! Cake, I mean. Sorry. I’m at Granny’s, and those are the only two left.”

“You’re at Granny’s?”

He had - quite reasonably, he thought - expected her to answer yes, and perhaps give a short explanation. He did not expect the unstoppable waterfall of words that actually followed.

“I’m sorry, did you want to head there together for lunch? Oh no, you did, didn’t you? I’m so sorry. I was driving past on my way over, and I remembered how busy it got there last time, and I figured it’d be nice to just head straight to your shop with cake and coffee instead, cause that was really nice, wasn’t it?”

“I -”

“Silly idea, but it seemed perfect at the time, and then I realized I had no idea what cake you like. I know you just take milk in your coffee, but the cake tripped me up, so I called, and now the surprise element’s gone, isn’t it? But maybe that’s for the best. I’m sorry, should I wait here or head straight over so we can walk here together?”

“No need to apologize, let alone half a dozen times,” he told her when she conveniently ran out of breath, holding back laughter. “I like your plan. I’ll put the chairs out. How much coffee have you had today?”

“Quite a bit. Is it obvious?”

“Quite a bit.”

“Oops,” she laughed. “Alright, so I’ll see you in… ten minutes, I think. Not sure. But soon. Bye!”

“Belle!”

“Yes?”

“Black Forest, please.”

“Oh my God, right! Yes! Black Forest! Got it! Sorry.”

Too much coffee made her apologize like she was getting paid for it, then. That was interesting. And a bit strange.

“Really, it’s alright,” he assured her. “See you soon.”

Putting the chairs out didn’t take too long. The air was warm but the sun hadn’t yet gotten to that point in the sky where it shone down on his little courtyard and warmed it even more. Gold stood out there for a moment or two longer, wondering if he should get a better table for them to sit at. Some decent garden furniture with matching chairs, perhaps, unless she liked the mismatched charm of the place. Although who could really like a stained white plastic garden table? Shabby could only ever be chic to a certain extent, and this set-up was pushing it.

Gold decided to keep an eye out for something nice and elegant, wooden or iron wrought, to replace the plastic table. Then he went back inside to wait for Belle, walking slowly among his carefully curated hoard of pretty things, hoping to look busy when she finally came in.

When she did, she whirled into his shop like a sunny little tornado, upsetting his bell to such an extent it barely chimed at all apart from one big _clink_ when she pushed the door open, and one big _clang_ when it shut. With her drifted in the smell of dessert for lunch, and coffee she apparently had very little need for. She made him smile before he even knew it, catching his own reflection in her sunglasses when she fluttered over to him.

“Hello!” she sang with a great grin. She kissed his cheek but was gone again before he could kiss hers in return.

“Hello,” he replied. “Do you need help with - Ah.”

Apparently not. She moved over to the counter to relieve herself of the paper bags she’d been cradling to her chest before she spilled them all over his floor, which was very sensible of her.

“I got the last pieces of Black Forest,” she said, lifting up her sunglasses to place them on top of her head, revealing her beautiful blue eyes, “but I forgot which cup's which.”

“Too hot to drink, anyway,” he said, waving away her concern. “We’ll worry about it later. How much was the, uh…”

He let the rest of his sentence die a quiet death because Belle realized instantly where he was going with that, and gave him a fierce look. He raised his hands in surrender, and her playfully shaming glare made place for a sort of pleased, slightly victorious benevolence. Well, he supposed she _did_ say next time would be her treat. He’d just have to beat her to it from now on, then.

“Understood. Thank you. Outside?”

“Yes! I think it’s gonna rain soon, though.”

“Rain? Are you sure?”

“Yeah! There’s some big scary clouds in the distance. You won’t have seen them if you were out earlier.”

She wasn’t wearing her leather jacket because it was too warm, probably, which was unfortunate, because he had grown to love that thing. But the silver lining to that was the soft, warm, completely electric feeling of his hand on her bare upper arm as he guided her out into the courtyard where the light had crept a little closer to the chair she sat in last time. Where she’d bathed in the sun like a sleepy little animal, warming its fur in the beams.

Although she hadn’t yet gone back to her sneakers and ripped tights for that morning’s meeting with Sidney, she looked far more relaxed and casual than she had the last time he saw her dressed up a little more formal. Just a black t-shirt this time, but the fabric looked soft and expensive, with a v-shaped neckline he was surprised to discover he found particularly appealing. Monday’s skirt had been more formal, too, but the tight grey denim of this one looked perfect on her.

Of course, there was also a small chance that he was so taken with her at that point that she could walk in dressed as a miner or a lumberjack and he would still think she looked amazing. He already knew she looked good in a flannel shirt, so…

“I think Granny likes me,” mused Belle, carefully pulling out two huge pieces of cake on their paper plates from one of the bags. “She gave me the entire rest of the cake when she just as easily could have split it in three. Four, maybe. Well, I _assumed_ it was Granny. She looks like a Granny.”

“I think you might have met Granny, yes,” he replied, smiling to himself as he got out their coffee from their little cardboard holder in the second paper bag. “She wouldn’t have been that generous had I been there instead.”

With everything accounted for, the pair of them sat down at the table and set about devouring the luxurious looking cake; alternating layers of whipped cream and cake topped with chocolate shavings and maraschino cherries. Although verbally not quite the waterfall she was before, it seemed Belle was still feeling the effects of what he assumed were near-lethal amounts of coffee; with one leg crossed over the other, her foot kept bouncing up and down, up and down.

“Really?” she asked, taking a tiny little bite out of one of her cherries. “She doesn’t look like someone who’d be scared of you, to be honest.”

“She’s not,” he replied, his smirk faltering when he saw her suck the rest of the cherry right off the stem and into her mouth with a soft little _pop_ sound. Christ. “She wouldn’t hesitate to refuse my custom if the thought of losing even a single customer didn’t annoy her so much. Even a customer like me. Good business sense.”

Belle chewed in silence for a moment, narrowing her eyes to an inquisitive glare. “What did you do?”

“Nothing! She actually owns her diner, and I’d be a fool to price her out of the inn. No-one else would manage it as well as she does. If I were to hazard a guess, I’d say she takes it upon herself to openly dislike me on behalf of the rest of the town.”

Belle had listened intently, eyes fixed to his as if daring him to brush her off. Satisfied with what she saw there, evidently, she smiled.

“You quite like that, don’t you? Secretly? When people aren’t intimidated by you?”

“Depends on the person,” he admitted with a casual shrug.

“That’s interesting,” she said quietly, one corner of her mouth tugging up into a half smirk right before she flicked the tip of her finger through a little dot of whipped cream and made it disappear between her lips. _Christ._

“Is it?”

“Mm. I’m gonna figure it out, one day. What makes you like someone.”

Gold smiled and sat back in his chair, paper plate in one hand, plastic fork in the other. “Keep me updated on that, will you?”

“I will,” she replied, nodding gravely. “Once I figure out what your son, stoic old ladies, and Australian shop girls have in common.”

Gold laughed, then took his first big bite of cake. Sickly sweet, but the sourness of the cherries helped. He could wash it down with his coffee later anyway, if it proved too sweet for him to handle.

“Did you meet her granddaughter?” he asked. “She works the occasional shift there.”

“No. Why?”

“Something tells me you might get along.”

“Oh?”

“Just a hunch,” he replied with a smile.

He couldn’t really be more specific than that without sounding ridiculous. It would be silly to tell her his reasoning was mostly just the fact that they both seemed very giggly, and she had a blue streak in her hair where Ruby had a red one. That, and he strongly suspected there could be some overlap in their wardrobes.

“I’ll look out for her next time,” said Belle. “What’s her name? What does she look like?”

“Her name’s Ruby, and you’ll know her when you see her. Think red.”

Belle raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Alright, Mr Cryptic!”

Gold smirked and let silence take over for a moment.

Soon, a distant sound made him consider that perhaps quiet was a better word. Despite the town’s small size and population, it was never quite completely silent. When conditions were just right, the sounds of the harbor floated over on the wind. Ship horns, seagulls making a fuss over the latest catch, Granny’s shipment of canned tomatoes for her overhyped lasagna being dropped to the dock with very little consideration for the final product, that sort of thing.

But the wind was blowing seaward today, so today’s soundtrack consisted of a few cars, a very enthusiastic dove somewhere on a neighboring rooftop, and some smaller birds that zoomed past too fast for him to figure out exactly what they were. Every few minutes or so, they flew past overhead, probably waiting for him and Belle to go back inside so they could steal away the rest of the cake, like they did last time.

After walking Belle to her car that afternoon, he came back to his shop to lock up properly before heading home, and when he went into the back room to put the chairs back inside, he spotted some tiny, mousy looking birds - three or four of them - hopping about on the plastic table and making a feast of the handful of crumbs they had left. Gold left them to their business and put the chairs back inside the next morning, too well-mannered to interrupt a meal.

With the way they just flew past every once in a while and didn’t perch on the stone wall on the other side of the courtyard to wait like tiny vultures, it seemed the wee feathery creatures were returning the courtesy today.

But why was he thinking about birds when he had Belle sitting next to him, licking whipped cream from her lips?

“So, how are you?” he asked, angling his chair a little bit more towards her.

“Bit wired, you might have noticed on the phone,” Belle replied, lifting herself up from her chair for a moment to do the same. Wood scraped on stone, and she made an adorable little groan of effort when she discovered the chair was a bit heavier than it looked, but she managed, in the end. “I’m running on coffee cause I had to finish a book last night so I didn’t get much sleep.”

“Ah, for a review,” remarked Gold.

“Nah,” was her reply, right before dropping her second and thankfully last maraschino cherry into her open mouth.

This time she was too quick for him to catch a flash of that piercing that was beginning to interest him a tad too much, which was probably a good thing. She just chewed and smiled while Gold waited with raised eyebrows for her to explain, and it took him entirely too long to remember that this was a bookworm he was dealing with, here. She didn’t need a good reason to stay up all night reading, and when he realized that, he returned her smile and mouthed an _ah._

“Stupid, I know,” she mumbled, her smile turning a little bit embarrassed.

“Not at all. I’m a bit jealous, even. Must be nice to be able to lose yourself in another world like that.”

“You can’t do that?” she asked, looking very concerned now.

“Oh, no, I can. I just don’t make the time these days. But never mind my poor reading history, did you have a good meeting with Sidney?”

“Oh, yeah!” she replied, nodding. “He’s not sure when that job’ll open up, but he says he’ll keep me posted, and he wants me to write more stuff in the mean time, so everything’s good.”

“I’m glad.”

“And how’ve you been? How’s Neal?”

“Oh, we’re doing well. He’s been in a good mood, and I haven’t done anything dumb to upset him recently, so everything’s fine.”

“Have you met his girlfriend yet?” she asked. Before he could answer, she smirked, tilted her head to the side just a touch and added, “You know, _officially_.”

Gold chuckled and shook his head. “I don’t think that’s going to happen any time soon. From what I’ve gathered, I don’t think she’d be too keen on the idea even if our first… meeting hadn’t been the disaster it was.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, brow furrowing.

“Ahh, that’s right,” Gold sighed, prodding his cake with his fork. “I never did tell you what happened.”

He prodded his cake with his fork and smiled at her eager, interested look.

“When I walked in on them, she ran off. I told you that part, didn’t I?”

She nodded, eyes wide and fixed to his.

“When he caught up with her, there was some sort of misunderstanding. He casually referred to her as his girlfriend, and she ran for the hills, essentially. That’s what had him so upset for so long.”

Belle cringed and hissed a soft _ouch_. “Bit young for commitment issues, isn’t she? When I was sixteen, I thought every boy I met who wasn’t a complete jerk to me was _the_ one.”

Gold laughed and watched her cheeks stain a pretty shade of pink.

“I agree that it’s a bit strange. But it’s just a small matter of terminology in Neal’s eyes.”

“Poor thing!” she cooed. “He must like her a lot.”

“He does,” he agreed. “It’s adorable. And it’s very tempting to tease him about it, but when weeklong strops start being a potential consequence, it takes the appeal out of it somewhat.”

“Good! Don’t you embarrass that sweet, sensitive kid just for liking someone!”

He could tell she was trying to be stern, but her voice was just a touch too high to really sound serious, and she couldn’t quite wipe away her smirk. God, he could just about burst with affection then; a warm feeling sparking in his belly, sending waves of adoration through his entire body, making him grin so wide he thought his head might split in two.

“Not so sweet when he’s averaging about a dozen eye rolls per day at your expense, I assure you,” he muttered, secretly quite touched by her coming to the defense of his son like that. Like there was some sort of inter-subculture kinship thing going on between them.

“Right, okay, I see your point. That might be… annoying,” she admitted with a soft chuckle.

Gold was about to ask her to expand on her remarkably low teenage crush threshold when he caught her eyeing the coffee in the middle of the table. “D’you think it’s drinkable now?” she asked. “Not that I’ve figured out which one’s which.”

“Sure. Why don’t you just go for it and pick one. Odds are decent.”

“That’s very optimistic of you,” she muttered with a delicately raised eyebrow, reaching for the nearest cup. “If it were tea, I’d be alright with a fifty percent chance of getting it wrong, but coffee without sugar is _really_ not my thing.”

He was about to offer to play guinea pig himself if she was really so opposed to the idea of sugarless coffee, but she’d already put the cup up to her lips for a slow, careful sip, and it was too late to be a gentleman about it now. Gold waited for it, watching her face closely, and when she crinkled her nose and made a deep, displeased sound, he smirked.

“Yours,” she shuddered, confirming his suspicions. She handed it over with a face as dark as the raincloud he just now spotted in the distance, moving slowly but steadily closer.

“It can’t be that bitter, surely. There’s milk in there.”

“Taste mine, then!” she demanded, lifting her chin just a bit in challenge. “You’ll see it’s much better!”

Gold raised a single eyebrow but accepted her offer. He took a little sip, and he was all set to find it completely disgusting, but it actually wasn’t overpowering, that sweetness. Usually, sugary coffee left an unpleasant taste in his mouth, but that wasn’t the case this time. Perhaps Belle had discovered the perfect sugar to coffee ratio.

“Not bad, I’ll admit,” he said, handing her back her drink.

“Better, huh?” she asked, grinning triumphantly.

“I said _not bad_ ,” he replied in a deep, warning tone, answering her grin with a little smirk of his own.

Just then, a distant rumbling up in the steadily darkening sky seemed to agree with him. He resisted the urge to look up when Belle did, just so he could stare at her for a moment. Her hair up in a loose ponytail meant he could admire the lines of her neck and her clavicle. And he wondered then what sort of excuse he would need to touch her neck. She wore a delicate gold chain with a little charm he couldn’t make out from where he was sitting. Perhaps if the clasp slipped down her neck later, he could fix that for her. Perhaps he didn’t even need an excuse. … But it might be fun to pretend.

Another deep rumble and an almost imperceptible jump from Belle made him snap his own eyes up to the sky and move on from that ridiculous thought. There was still a bit of blue up above, he saw, but a great mass of grey was beginning to draw over them like a blanket.

“You were right about the rain.”

“Mm.”

They had to move indoors a little while later, leaving the crumbs to the birds to snatch up before the drizzle turned into a downpour. But it seemed the birds had sensed the rain coming long before they did. They were nowhere to be seen or heard.

In his back room, at a little round table pushed right up against the window, he sat opposite her and stared at her dreamy smile as she looked out of the rain-streaked window. They listened to the rain, cradling their warm cups of coffee in restless hands, fingers tapping or twitching as the mantle clock on a shelf on the other side of the room (no mantle to put it on) ticked time away.

“I should thank you for playing messenger for me and Jefferson,” she said after a little while of pleasant rainy quiet, turning her dreamy smile to him. “It’s not like I have a ton of friends, so it’d be stupid to lose a really good one, you know?”

“Any particular reason as to why you lost touch?”

“I guess one of us was always somewhere else, or too busy,” sighed Belle. “Just in a different place, figuratively and literally. We didn’t fall out or anything.”

Gold knew what she told him last time, that she’d never dated anyone with children before, should have ended his niggling curiosity regarding her friendship with the man, but still he wondered. Hoping the question wouldn’t make him sound nosy - or worse; insecure - Gold steeled himself and decided to just ask.

“Just out of curiosity, you and Jefferson… Were you ever…”

Belle quirked an eyebrow, her silence confounding to him in that moment. How else would he possibly end a sentence like that?

“Were you ever together?”

“ _Oh!_ God, no. No no no,” she assured him, frowning seriously, and after a few seconds of shaking her head in further denial, she added, “Ew.”

“Ew?” he repeated, feeling an amused smirk begin to pull at his lips.

“Wait, no,” she laughed. “Not _ew_ exactly. It’s just a strange thought to me, that’s all.”

“Really? That strange?”

“You’re not one of those people who think it’s weird for men and women to be friends, are you?”

There was a hint of alarm in her voice that, combined with the subtle but definite stiffening of her fingers around her cardboard cup, shocked Gold into an immediate denial.

“No, definitely not,” he said decisively. “I’ve never had many male friends, myself. It’s not that. It’s just that…”

Part of him wished he’d stifled that little bit of curiosity and let it asphyxiate quietly over time, but it was too late now.

“Well,” he sighed, leaning back in his chair. “You’re breathtakingly beautiful, for one, and you’re an absolute joy to spend time with.”

There was a flash of surprise on her face she made sure to cover up by pressing her lips together in a thin line. 

“You’re just enchanting,” he added, hoping to make those lips break free into the grin he knew she was trying to fight off. “And as for Jefferson… Well, he’s not unattractive. So why not? It’s not an unreasonable thought, is it?”

“I don’t know!” she said, still trying to keep a straight face. “Sure, he’s _cute_ -”

“Ah! Wait!” he interrupted, holding up his hand as if for her words to bounce back on. “Stop that train of thought right there before you come to your senses.”

Gold was hoping for an affectionate roll of her bewitching eyes at least, and that was exactly what he got. Her grin finally breaking free was a lovely bonus, and he could just about enjoy that for a few seconds until he realized that he wasn’t entirely kidding.

It wasn’t that he was worried about Jefferson. It was the fact that his attraction to her was mutual that was still something of a mystery to Gold. A fact, evidently, but still a mysterious fact indeed. He wasn’t nearly twice her age, but he was sure he looked it. He’d caught a few strange looks from fellow diners that Monday they had lunch together, and they didn’t bother him then. They bothered him just a bit _now_ , and only because he was starting to wonder what Belle would have made of those judging eyes had she noticed them.

She called herself impulsive. Was it that strange to wonder, then, if she really knew what people might think of her, consorting with an old, crippled antiques dealer and landlord (or all-round piece of work if you asked Granny for her input) the way she was. Was she really not embarrassed to be seen with him, to _like_ him, or did she not fully realize?

He knew wasn’t hideous, but the way she looked at him sometimes - it was almost too much. It was like he’d made it up. The way she sometimes stared at his lips with a lost sort of look in her eyes during conversation seemed like something a woman like her would only ever do in a carefully constructed but slightly over-the-top fantasy.

She was doing it again now, lost in the sounds of the rain for a moment while she thought of what to say next. When he smiled, she snapped out of it.

“Jefferson’s cute, and he’s a great guy, but I’ve known him since I was fifteen, and I never thought of him that way,” she explained. “He’s more like a big brother to me. Maybe I imprinted on him or something.”

Imprinted! Like a little duckling! Too soon to break that one out as a pet name, wasn’t it? Better file it away for future use.

“That long?”

“That long!” she chirped, smiling fondly. “He was the first ever friend I made when I moved here. On my second day at school, actually! He saw me sitting all by myself, reading Lovecraft, and of course he swooped right in.”

“Lovecraft. Of course,” Gold laughed.

“I was really shy and self-conscious back then, and it was terrifying being here all alone. Jefferson looked out for me when I needed it most. And I tried to do the same.”

She was very quiet when she said that last part. There was something about her phrasing and the way she turned to look at the rain trickling down the windowpane that made him want to ask, but he knew he shouldn’t. If she wanted to, she would have told him.

“Anyway,” she sighed, shaking her head to dispel whatever distant memories had started to surface in her mind. “Maybe I was just never his type, and he was never mine.”

Gold nodded and thought to himself that really, they could do with an eye test, the pair of them. Well, Jefferson could use one. As long as Belle was legally fit to drive with whatever aberration of the eye she had that made her look at him like she looked at the cake, Gold was perfectly fine with her skipping it altogether.

“I don’t think I even have a type,” she added almost absently.

He smirked and opened his mouth to reply, but suddenly her eyebrows shot up high and before he could say what he meant to say, she raised a hand forbiddingly and cried out, “Don’t say crime lords!”

Ah, his flirting was getting predictable. He snapped his mouth obediently shut but couldn’t resist a little smirk. “Perhaps I wasn’t going to.”

“The fact that you said ‘perhaps’ proves different,” remarked Belle very sensibly. “And by the way, don’t think I didn’t notice you calling me enchanting just then! You charmer!”

Gold rested his head in the palm of his hand, his elbow on the table, feeling comfortable and content enough in this room that smelled of furniture polish and coffee, with the rain blurring the world beyond the window and tapping a soft song against the glass, _so_ comfortable and content that he could just sit like that, smile, and gaze at her beautiful face with open adoration, possibly forever.

She was trying to make him blush, or something, staring at him like that. As if he didn’t know exactly what he said, and meant it.

“Don’t forget breathtakingly beautiful.”

To his utter delight, Belle snorted and collapsed in a fit of giggles, hiding her grinning face in her folded arms on the table. Gold laughed, couldn’t _stop_ laughing, felt the very sight of her little body shaking in silent giggles fill him up with mirth and affection, and God, it was fun to make her do that.

He grinned and reached over to put a hand on her shoulder, asking her, “Are you quite alright?”

Belle nodded, her shiny, soft looking mass of deep brown and blue hair the only indication of that movement. She still didn’t manage to make a sound of any sort, until she sat up, caught the hand that slipped off her shoulder, and gave his fingers a gentle squeeze.

“Not fair,” she decided, trying to pout.

Gold mirrored her pout, deepened his voice and asked, “Not fair? What isn’t fair?”

“You’re better at this!”

“At what?”

“You know what! I’m flirting way above my weight class.”

“I’d say you’re more than holding your own,” he said softly, looking down at where her thumb was rubbing small circles on the back of his hand, then back up at her face to see if she even realized she was doing it.

He couldn’t decide whether she did or not. That smile could have meant anything. That smile made his insides feel too big for his ribcage to hold.

“I’m going to go to the bathroom,” she said, letting go of his hand, “and when I come back, I’m gonna stop letting you fluster me to the point of paralysis.”

When she turned the corner, feeling one more cliché bubble up from a long forgotten part of his brain Belle had brought back to life, Gold began to call out, “Is that -”

“It’s _not_ a challenge!”

And he was left on his own, smiling at no-one, reaching for his coffee to make up for the loss of the warmth of her hand. 

The rain was still pouring. He hoped she hadn’t parked too far away; he didn’t have an umbrella lying around, he didn’t think.

There was a flash of lightning, and before the deep rumble of thunder sounded, Belle had returned, settling into her chair with a look on her face that told Gold there was something on her mind.

“When I went back to Hot Topic to get my stuff,” she started, looking very serious all of the sudden, “and they told me you came by for me, I felt awful. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize for that. You were excited to leave that place. I don’t blame you one bit.”

“But I could have found you sooner, and I want to explain,” she insisted. Her serious look turned his spine a bit wobbly, big eyes under a furrowed brow, her bottom lip jutting out just a fraction of an inch.

He didn’t stand a chance. Would probably never stand a chance.

“Alright.”

“I thought you’d come back the next morning,” she said quietly, looking down at her fingers as she tapped them slowly, silently against the edge of the table. “And it’s totally alright that you didn’t, but after a few days, I was starting to think I just imagined everything. That the flirting didn’t mean anything to you, and that if I googled your shop and just showed up, you might be weirded out, and it’d be embarrassing.”

The urge to grab her and kiss her was strong, now. Her words were making his heart ache.

“So when they told me you asked about me, I was ecstatic for like _three_ seconds until I realized you had no idea I wanted to see you again. That you might be feeling as sad as I did before I found out you came by the store after all.”

“Oh God, Belle, I’m so sorry,” he sighed, running his fingers through his hair - a nervous, frustrated habit he’d never quite managed to unlearn. “That was my fault entirely.”

“Don’t apologize. You came for me, and I wasn’t there.”

“You’re not a soothsayer, and if you’re allowed to explain yourself, so am I,” he said with a playful mock severity, noting that it was very, _very_ difficult to really scowl at her. Impossible, even. He could feel himself smile even as he tried his best not to.

Belle bit down on a smile and gave a graceful nod, allowing him to continue.

“I was afraid I’d come off desperate, and you’d go off me in an instant. That’s why I didn’t show up the next day. And then…”

Gold sighed again, leaning back, staring at his now empty coffee cup just to avoid having to look at her being entirely too kind and understanding when really, she didn’t need to be.

“I don’t know what the bloody hell I was thinking when I kept putting it off, but let’s just put that down to brazen idiocy, or cowardice, if you will. I should have put more effort into finding you after I found out you’d left. But above all - and I never would have stopped kicking myself about this if we never saw each other again, above all I should have asked you out that day. That last time I saw you at the shopping center. I should have asked you out then and there. There was just no excuse.”

Belle was worth the risk of rejection, pain and embarrassment. It was so clear, now, how she was worth those things, and more. So much more it was a bit too terrifying to allow himself to dwell on it.

He was still staring at his coffee cup, but he glanced up for a split second and caught her smile.

“Did you really want to ask me out, that day?” she asked, so softly and sweetly that he couldn’t help but look up properly now, and meet her gaze.

“Oh, I wanted to do a bit more than that,” he assured her in a deeper voice, wanting to see whether she really meant it when she told him she wasn’t going to let him fluster her anymore.

She did pretty well. She grinned, and she rolled her eyes, and when it seemed she was about to start giggling, she bit her lip and managed to stave it off after all. Gold didn’t know whether to be proud of her or disappointed with himself.

“What made you come find me after all?” he asked.

Belle gave him a lopsided smile and shrugged. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you. It was getting stupid. And I hate feeling scared. I can’t stand it, and if I let the scary thing bother me for too long, eventually I just… _do_ the scary thing.”

“Am I to understand that the scary thing is _me_?”

“No, you’re not the scary thing,” replied Belle with a flash of a smirk. “The scary thing was risking it. Especially knowing that if it went well - if you felt the same way, I mean - it wouldn’t be straightforward.”

His son. She meant his son. The tricky thing. The thing that neither of them knew how to really deal with, except for sneaky lunch dates when Neal was at school and long phone calls out in the garden when he wasn’t. The thing that they were to ignore, but not to forget about completely, until some undefined moment in the future that Gold hoped with all of his worn-out, dusty heart would come, but might not.

Not straightforward. Tricky. Bit of a headache if he thought about it for too long. Entirely thrilling when he didn’t.

“I think we’re doing pretty well so far, for two people who have no idea what they’re doing,” he said, wanting to reach over and take her hand again, but knowing that if he did that, and if she rubbed those maddening circles on the back of his hand again, he would lose the fight and pull her halfway across the table to kiss her like he’d been wanting to all day. All week. Longer.

“Yeah, I guess we are. I don’t know what the proper way to do this is, but I feel like we’re probably being fairly proper. Lunch dates and everything.”

Gold wasn’t so sure if he would define anything short of a candlelight dinner with just the right amount of wine and possibly a moonlight stroll as a proper date, but then again, he was fucking ancient, wasn’t he? Might just be him.

Still, sounded quite nice in his head. Would she like that sort of thing? He hoped she did.

“Speaking of dates, is it alright if I pick you up, Sunday? And do you mind getting up early?”

“Not for books,” replied Belle with a little smile. “And you.”

Oh, really. How was he supposed to keep resisting that? Gold grinned and felt a bit of warmth creep up his neck, and Belle kept up her poker face for an impressive four seconds before she burst into laughter and told him, “Sorry. That was awful.”

“How about you stop apologizing for being sweet for now. You can give me one big apology when it makes my teeth fall out.”

“Stop out-flirting me!” she whined, bringing her little fist down on the table with all the force of a honey bee landing on a petal, making him throw his head back and laugh. “And how early are we talking about, exactly?”

“Well,” he said, once he’d managed to stop laughing at her second attempt at a pout that day, “it starts at nine, but we don’t have to get there by then.”

“Do you usually?”

“I do, but - ”

“Then that’s fine. Wouldn’t want all the good books gone when we get there, right?”

“It’s about a thirty minute drive,” he warned her. “You have to calculate that in.”

“Are you trying to scare me off? Second thoughts about taking me to your treasure hunting grounds?”

Belle was smiling, but there was a note of something a little bit unsure in her voice. Not quite a wobble, but a subtle raise in pitch Gold was glad he could notice. That way he knew not to tease, to be serious for a moment.

“Not at all. Just wouldn’t want you falling asleep due to sleep deprivation before my riveting conversation does the job.”

Not _too_ serious.

It was the last time he made her snort like a wee piglet that day. He wanted to keep her in his shop a little while longer and perhaps have another go at eliciting some charming little animal sounds. He tried to entice her with tea, but she had to go, she said. Needed to finish a review and meet with her friends, and Gold reluctantly let her go, although not physically. Not immediately. With his arm loosely around her waist, barely feeling the rain tap the top of his head and caring even less, he walked her to her car, kissed her wet cheek, and somehow, miraculously, possibly by divine intervention if he believed in that sort of thing, Gold managed to keep still and let her kiss his cheek instead of turning his head and finally, definitively destroying this silly idea that somehow, not kissing her meant anything at all if he _thought_ about kissing her more than he thought about doing his bloody job.

He watched her drive off in the rain and went back inside. He didn’t flip the sign back to ‘open’, because he wanted to think about her a bit more, in peace. All afternoon, from his chair in the back room, he could see people walk up to the shop door, look inside, then leave.

Terrible business sense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, rating change and one or two Belle-centered chapters coming up in the future (but not immediately.) Just a heads up.


	6. Nervous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle's often a bit more nervous than she likes to let on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. Stuff to do! Thank you for reading. <3

The night before what was to be her first cakeless date with Storybrooke’s unconvincing villain, Belle took every piece of clothing she owned out of her closet and threw everything onto her bed in a fit of indecision.

On the left side of her bed lay a big pile of clothes that she would have worn for any regular day time date with any given guy. On the right side lay a smaller pile of clothes that were new. New-ish. And on her knees in between those two piles sat Belle, thoroughly lost. She’d been staring for a while and it was starting to feel like the choice was between two Belles, and not two kinds of outfits. And _that_ was ridiculous.

So, sick of indecision, she flung herself right in between pile one and pile two and let herself think of nice things instead.

Well, him, basically. On her bed in her little L-shaped studio apartment, Belle grinned into her pillow and thought about all of the times he had made her face feel hot and her heart speed up. She loved when he teased her. She loved how he could barely take what he dished out those few times she managed not to let him fluster her completely and could flirt back. And sometimes, far more effective than anything he said, he looked at her in a way that made her knees feel weak. When he did that, all she could do was stare back and focus on resisting the urge to throw herself into his lap and kiss him.

Why didn’t she?

Belle wriggled onto her back, careful not to send either pile tumbling to the floor, and stared up at the crack in the ceiling right above her bed. She’d already kissed him a few times before, and the first kiss was always the scariest, right? Her heart had been pounding like crazy, and it felt like she’d swallowed something white-hot when she let herself inch closer and closer until their lips touched and it turned from the scariest into the best thing she’d done in a while. So that couldn’t have been holding her back now.

More importantly, why didn’t _he?_ She hadn’t explicitly asked him not to. And yeah, alright, to be fair, she knew she’d more or less brought that on herself with that talk about slowing down. And when she said all that stuff at the diner, he looked a little surprised. Like he didn’t even think it was weird of her to jump him in his shop. Like it was totally normal. So when he agreed that they should be careful, did he really agree? She was really curious about that, cause she kinda wanted him to disagree now, and fast. She supposed that in as much as this whole not kissing thing could be thought of as a game, it was exciting and fun for the most part, but he was _way_ too good at it. So good it made her want to stop playing.

Maybe tomorrow, Belle thought to herself as she pushed herself up from her bed and began shoving everything back in her closet. Tomorrow might be different. He was gonna pick her up and drop her back home again, and that would be the perfect time to stop messing around and just kiss her, if he really wanted to.

He wanted to, right?

Belle’s cheap old Ikea closet creaked its consistently ignored warning as she slammed it shut, and yeah, it was silly to doubt that he wanted to. He said as much at the diner. He’d kissed her back in his shop, and he stared at her lips sometimes. Maybe even a lot; she wouldn’t always have noticed, after all. She spent a lot of time glancing at his.

She was just nervous. That was all. He made her nervous, but weirdly enough it was always worse when he wasn’t actually around. She wound herself up thinking about him and the way he made her feel and what he must think about her, and when she finally saw him, her heart would jump in one final shock of electricity, but then he would smile like he was genuinely happy to see her, and they would start talking, and things would slot into place very quickly. Her ice cold nerves melted away under the warmth they generated between the two of them.

It’d be fine. It’d be like that tomorrow, too. She might still be nervous in his car, but then everything would be alright. What was it like the last time she’d felt this anxious about a date? It was never this intense, she knew that much. She remembered stuffing her bag with clothes and telling her dad she was gonna hang out with Jefferson (he thought he was gay, so that was never an issue) and he would help her decide on an outfit and then covered for her when her dad called his house and checked if she was still there, and not, in fact, out on a date with someone he would never in a million years approve of.

Jefferson. She’d call him and he’d make her feel better, or distract her at least. After a bit of frantic searching, Belle found her phone (it was just sitting there underneath the book she’d left open on the couch), dialed his number from memory just because she could, and waited. She curled up on her couch, covered her legs with the fleece throw she kept on there to hide the red wine stain she couldn’t remember making. She’d turned off most of the lights except the lamp on the coffee table and the one on her nightstand, and it was nice and cozy now that the sun had gone down and a pleasant chill had settled. With the window cracked open, the day’s stuffy heat was gone.

It didn’t take too long for a familiar voice to call her name in cheerful greeting on the other end, and she smiled.

“Belle!”

“Hiya! This a bad time?”

“Not at all. How are you?”

“Fine, nothing special. How about you? And Grace? How’s she doing?”

“Oh, she’s great,” he sighed happily. Belle could hear his grin in his voice, and it made her grin too. “Last week, she took the eyes off one of her teddybears and replaced them with these big red glass beads from a necklace she found in the park. She calls it her werebear.”

“That’s brilliant,” she laughed.

“Well, _she’s_ brilliant.”

“I’d be surprised if she wasn’t with a dad like hers.”

“Oh, hush, you. You’re too sweet. How are you really, though? I know we haven’t talked much lately. Still writing, right? Please still be writing, or I’ll come over and glue you to your desk chair, Belle, I swear I will.”

“Getting paid for it, even!”

“Ooh, look at you! You don’t even _have_ to date Mr Fancy for his money.”

“Jefferson!” she laughed, feeling her face heat up. “Actually… I kinda wanted to talk about that.”

“Mm?”

“We’re going to this antiques market thing tomorrow morning and I think I’m gonna throw up.”

“Aw. Nervous?”

“Like, really nervous. More than usual. It’s kind of freaking me out.”

“Seriously? Isn’t this your third date or something?”

“Yeah, but it’s only been lunch in his shop so far, and once in the diner. It’s never really been this _thing_ where he picks me up and we go somewhere really public.”

“What, did he pay everyone to get the hell out of the diner so you’d have it all to yourselves? Cause that’s actually kind of terrifying and romantic at the same time, and I’m impressed.”

Belle rolled her eyes fondly, fighting down a smile.

“No. It’s different somehow, this antiques thing. He does this sort of stuff all of the time. It’s his life, you know? I don’t know if I’ll fit in, or if he’ll still want me there once he sees me there, if that makes sense.”

He made a confused sound in his throat and she could practically see his face all comically screwed up in exaggerated disbelief.

“That doesn’t make any sense at all. Why would he ask you to go somewhere he didn’t want to take you? You didn’t invite yourself along, did you?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I was a bit too enthusiastic? He said there’d be cheap books so you can imagine how I was.”

Jefferson laughed loudly, considerately covering the receiver for a moment so as to spare her eardrum and dignity.

“Yeah, Belle, don’t worry about it. He definitely wanted you there. He _lured_ you there.”

Belle sighed, feeling relieved for just a blissful few seconds until that uncomfortable tightness in her belly made her tense up again, telling her that this went deeper than she suspected. These weren’t normal jitters. She wasn’t herself tonight, and the thought of this strange, vulnerable mood carrying over into their date made her feel even worse.

“And don’t be worried about not fitting in, cause I go to these things too sometimes.”

“Oh, for the shop?”

“Mm. Antique sewing supplies, stuffed critters, vinyl records, that sort of stuff. If it’s got cheap books like he said, then it’s not gonna be one of those stuffy things with assholes wearing boat shoes and pants in various shades of almost-but-not-quite-navy. Leave the fishnets at home, but other than that, you should be fine wearing whatever.”

“I don’t have those anymore, but thank you, Jefferson. I feel better.”

A bit, at least. About being _spectacularly_ underdressed. She’d probably still stand out, but maybe she was picturing the entire ordeal much fancier than it actually was. And since when did she start thinking that standing out was a bad thing?

“You threw out the fishnets? Too bad. You looked hot in those. Bet Fancy would agree.”

“Oh my God,” she groaned. “Are you gonna keep calling him that?”

“He has a gold cane!” Jefferson cried out.

“He also has a name.”

“And a gold cane! And a disgustingly expensive suit. More than one, I’d wager. Bet he has a fleet of super cars that he keeps in a private underground garage, too. And a butler. Couple of purebred horses. And a jet.”

“All in the garage?”

“Yes.”

Belle smiled and listened to her best friend list a bunch of ridiculous things her date might hoard in this imaginary garage of his. He got louder, more outlandish with each suggestion (“Four breeding pairs of Tasmanian tigers, at least!”) and then, after a few minutes, a little bit sleepy now, she resolved to wait for a lull in his waterfall of words so she could mention Grace again and begin to knit an end to their conversation.

Mentioning Grace had always been a foolproof way to get him to focus, to settle back down when he got carried away. Before he had her, it was altogether more difficult a thing to manage, but then she never really felt the need to, then. She was never there to do it when it really mattered, anyway; when he got himself kicked out of class, or whenever got himself into heaps of shit with the regulars at the bars he and his sketchy older friends frequented, all decked out in their elaborate goth get-ups.

“Has she grown an awful lot since I last saw her? Grace?”

A second of silence, another sigh, and then a gentle, “Oh!”

Belle smiled. Foolproof.

“Yeah, she’s gotten a lot bigger,” he said, his voice softening again, lowering to a more restful, content tone. Like magic. “But still cute as a button. This is terrible of me, probably, but I don’t want her to get much taller. How did you do it, Belle?”

“Do what?” she asked, crinkling her nose.

“Stop growing at your cutest?”

“Oh fuck off!” she laughed, grabbing a cushion and squeezing it tight. If Jefferson had been there with her, chuckling wickedly at his own stupid joke, she would have playfully punched him in the arm or something, but that was impossible, so she had to make do with her poor cushion.

When their laughter calmed, he told her about Grace. She’d been having nightmares for a while, Jefferson said, but she’d told him that her new werebear was taking care of the problem now and that she’d be alright, and Belle smiled and closed her eyes, thinking to herself as she listened to those sweet little anecdotes that she’d missed him a lot. And when Grace called out from her bedroom for a glass of water, they quickly said their goodbyes and promised to meet up soon, and Belle wasn’t sure when that would be, but it was the thought of seeing him again that finally soothed her nerves enough so that she felt she could maybe fall asleep if she just tried really hard.

So Belle crawled into her bed, cursing under her breath when her knee scraped against a sharp corner of a hardcover hiding under the sheets. So that was where she’d left that. She put the book on her nightstand, curled up, closed her eyes and listened to her building’s familiar sounds. Her downstairs neighbor taking a late night shower as usual, doors opening and closing as quietly as was possible in a building this old and poorly insulated. Outside, all the way from the other side of the building facing the street, Belle heard a heartfelt drunken rendition of a song she didn’t recognize, courtesy of some guys who must have stumbled out of the bar just down the street.

When she first moved here, she feared she would never get used to it. Now it was familiar and safe, and she had no trouble falling asleep while the world around her carried on.

…

Her alarm screamed her awake much too soon, but there was no time to doze off for ten more minutes; she hadn’t scheduled that in. Certainly no time to brew tea. After her shower and a disappointing bowl of cereal, Belle managed to throw back one cup of scalding coffee (dreadful instant stuff that did its job but wasn’t very pleasant about it) and took so long brushing her teeth and willing her bleary eyes to stop looking so bloody bleary that by the time she remembered she hadn’t actually settled on an outfit yet, it was legitimately time to start panicking.

So out came her entire wardrobe again, but in one giant pile this time, and with a chill that made her pull her bathrobe around herself as tight as she could, Belle felt the nerves creep back and chase the sleep from her skull much more effectively than her single cup of coffee had.

“Fuck. _Fuck_.”

How difficult was it to figure out what she felt like wearing today? It wasn’t like she didn’t enjoy dressing up, but he wouldn’t know that, would he? If she dressed up, he might think she was doing it just for him, and she _kind_ of was, but not completely, yet still enough for her to ignore the newer, more expensive additions to her wardrobe and settle on a cute black skirt and a top that didn’t make her feel like she was going in for a job interview, but didn’t make her look twelve either. That was a good compromise, Belle felt. They’d probably be doing a lot of walking, and for all she knew it was one of those things held out in a field somewhere, so today was not the day to break out the heels, although she liked how they made her almost as tall as him.

Maybe she was over-thinking this. Maybe he’d wear something more casual too, although she couldn’t really picture it. A man like him in khakis? He seemed just a little bit too vain for that - _just_ the right amount. Jeans, maybe? She could just about picture that, though it was still a little weird. Not bad, just weird.

Blowdrying her hair calmed her down a little bit. The heat was soothing, the white noise drowned out the panic just a touch. That is, until she opened her eyes, turned towards the window and saw that it was frightfully grey outside. Oh, God. The weather. Belle threw down the blowdryer and rushed to check the forecast on her computer, blindly slapping the keyboard to wake the old thing up. She never shut it down anymore for fear of not being able to turn it on again, it was that old and unreliable.

Fifteen percent chance of rain. That was about five percent above Belle’s worrying threshold. She could wear her jacket for the chill, but it didn’t have a hood, and if she wore a hoodie over her top it would be way too hot. She didn’t have an umbrella either. If it started to rain, she would look like a drowned woman.

It was gonna rain, wasn’t it?

It was gonna rain, and she wasn’t sure about her outfit at all, and of course she was nervous because that’s pretty normal when you’ve gone and gotten yourself in over your head. The thing - _the_ thing that kept tripping her up was the thought of that Neal-shaped elephant in the room that they were supposed to ignore for now but couldn’t forget about. Where was her tunnel vision now? Now that she’d let it get herself into this situation? Now that she had a use for it?

Belle sighed and allowed herself a few more seconds of ineffectual pouting at the forecast on the screen and then began the dangerous task of dressing herself as quickly as she could without seriously injuring herself or ripping her tights. But her mind kept whirring, the clouds kept gathering, and she wished she’d just gotten an umbrella at some point in her life like a normal person.

It wasn’t even as if she wanted out, she thought, zipping up her skirt. That wasn’t the problem. And that _was_ the problem, cause not wanting out had serious implications. More serious than with any other guy she’d ever dated. If it were just a sexual thing, she would have asked him out for drinks, gotten a few beers into herself for courage and jumped him already - which was very much a thing that she wanted to do, but she wanted to do it more than once, and in addition to plenty of other things, like proper dating, and talking, and flirting, and oh dear _God_ , there was just an endless list of things she wanted with him that didn’t fall under the header of ‘casual’ at all.

She picked a black and yellow flannel button-up, cause that was better than a band shirt, and frankly, it made her breasts look awesome. Rushing into the bathroom, standing on her tiptoes in front of her mirror, she checked to see if it looked as good as she remembered it, and it was alright, really. Not too punk, not fancy at all, so it was probably exactly what she was looking for. She didn’t have time to find something better, anyway.

She looked just fine, and the world wasn’t black and white like she imagined it in this moment. It wasn’t even greyscale. Belle knew that. But still she couldn’t get past the crippling thought that if she wasn’t planning on keeping it casual, then essentially, what she had done here, really, was ask a man with a life and a son and a shop and a reputation if he maybe wanted to try and fall in love with her, and she with him, and _fuck_ , she could have done without that insane thought, actually.

But she couldn’t shake it. Cause that’s what this was, wasn’t it? That wasn’t the way she was supposed to think about it, but the thought kept rising up out of nowhere to cast a cool shadow over her and make her feel vaguely sick with nerves. Trying to forget about it was like trying to drown fish in a bathtub. It was stupid and exhausting and it would never work, but it was better than having them flop around on her bathroom floor at the most inopportune moment (like, mid-conversation with the poor unsuspecting guy) and making a fucking mess.

Normally Belle was pretty good about not freaking out about her poorly thought-out decisions once she’d made them, but this was something else. She was getting ahead of things, thinking about his son and everything. Cause maybe it would all blow up soon, anyway. Maybe he _was_ a serial killer, or maybe she’d say or do something rash that would scare him off, or maybe she’d overcompensate for jumping into things in the beginning, hold back too much and bore him to death. Or maybe he wasn’t even that into her. But… If he was planning on getting her into bed and then ditching her, then he was putting far too much effort into it, really.

Rampaging through her bathroom, Belle froze in front of her medicine cabinet. Why the hell had she left her eyeliner in there? She usually kept it… Well, she never kept it in one place, but the medicine cabinet? That was new. She was only checking to see if the advil was still in there or she’d put it in her bag already, so two birds in one stone, there. Good. But oh, dear God, she was a mess. Would she even be able to keep her hand steady enough while she did her make-up? Would she ever stop diving into these things head-first? Always the same bloody thing. Flirt first, worry later. Quit now, worry later. Kiss now, worry later. Well, later was here now, and what had she gotten herself into?

_Heartbreak or motherhood, basically._

“Nope!” she told the bathroom cupboard as she slammed it shut. Nope to that thought. Nope to that black and white view of what was just _dating_ , for heaven’s sake. Nope to the dark red lipstick today. Eyeliner was fine, yesterday’s black nail polish was still good, and nope to worrying about anything else. Like she didn’t have enough to fret about anyway. Turned out quitting her job might not have been the best course of action, financially speaking. She had a little bit of savings left, and it wasn’t like she was planning on doing anything else with it, but it bothered her more than she thought it would, burning through her meager savings like that. She didn’t care much about money; that was what she had always told herself, at least. But she did care a little. Enough to be sensible when it really mattered. Enough to cut down on nice food and fancy tea to make her sad little miniature nest egg last just a little bit longer.

“Nope, nope, _nope,_ ” she repeated, pulling her hair up into a messy bun. No reason to think about that now. No reason to look so glum. She was going on a date with a man who made her feel things she hadn’t felt since she was a teenager, and she was going to get a bunch of cheap books, and by the end of the day he would kiss her, and it would be amazing. And it became clear to her then as she undid another button on her shirt that there was no need to worry about her clothes either. Why would she wear a pencil skirt and a blouse with pearly buttons when today was not a day she felt like a girl with a pencil skirt and a blouse with pearly buttons? She didn’t quite believe it when he told her that he liked her in the clothes he’d met her in, but she supposed she’d find out today, and that would be a good thing. Potentially painful, but good. Cause this was quite a bit more public than their diner date.

She would watch him closely, Belle decided as she put on as many of her black rubber bracelets as she could find - and if there was even a hint of shame or hesitance, she would notice.

_And then what?_

Belle came to a sudden standstill in the middle of her kitchen, half wondering if she had time to find her choker, half wondering exactly _what_ she would do if she caught him looking even the slightest bit embarrassed to be seen with her.

“Whatever,” she whispered, shaking her head. No time for either of those things. She threw herself into her leather jacket, grabbed her bag, slammed off the lights and rushed down the stairs to wait for him outside. She didn't want to have to invite him up; she’d left all of her clothes on her bed, and her bed was in her living room. And kitchen. If he hadn’t yet figured out that she was secretly kind of a mess, that would definitely do it.

Just as she closed the front door behind her, a huge, dark car pulled up to the curb, and although she heard herself quietly whisper, “No way,” she knew it couldn’t have been anyone else.

The door clicked open, and out came the Storybrooke wolf, looking not even a smidgeon more casual than he usually did. Same black suit and shiny leather shoes, and she felt suddenly self-conscious again in her button-up and the least beaten up pair of Converse she owned. But only for a second, because that was the time it took for him to notice her and smile at her like she was precious, and her nervous grin turned genuine.

Ah, there it was. The warm haze that came over her and dulled her frantic thoughts whenever he was near. She felt better.

“Good morning. Hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

Belle grinned and shook her head. “Just came out, no worries,” she replied, walking closer as he came around the hood of the car towards her.

“Beautiful timing.”

He put a hand on her arm and leaned in to kiss her cheek, waking the butterflies in her stomach and sending them fluttering. Her hands had a mind of their own, perching firmly on his chest as she stood on her toes and pressed her lips against his cheek for what she hoped was the exact length of time that would tell him that she was super, super ready to start making out with him in the back of his shop now - but no pressure!

She liked his aftershave. Did he like her perfume? A shy glance at his lips for good measure. No idea if he’d noticed. He smiled and opened the car door for her, gesturing for her to get in, and oh God, it looked even more expensive on the inside. Leather. No cheap plastic panelling. And in the middle of the seat… Coffee. Two big cups from Granny’s in a cardboard holder. Bet he remembered which cup was which, too.

“Milk and sugar,” he said as he settled into his seat and fastened his seatbelt, nodding towards the cup closest to her. “Just in case you just absolutely had to finish a book last night. Shouldn’t be too hot anymore, I don’t think.”

He remembered. Belle grinned and muttered thanks, folding her hands around the warmth of her direly needed caffeine boost, keeping it safe in her lap.

“This car is, uh, seriously impressive,” she said softly.

And expensive. More expensive than anything she could ever hope to afford, not that she really cared much about cars.

“I know,” he muttered in reply, looking a bit embarrassed. “It’s an impractical thing and I have no excuse for it, but I can’t bring myself to get rid of it.”

“Why should you? I think you look great in it,” she said, nodding seriously.

Belle almost laughed in relief to see his quick little smile and shy shrug as he looked down and fumbled with his keys, trying to start the car. That little hint of vulnerability was enough for her to loosen her shoulders and sink back in her seat.

Yeah. It would be alright. She made him fumble.

“Did you, uh, get enough sleep, then?” he asked as they began to move. “This is a bit early even for me, I have to say.”

“Yeah, I’m fine! I usually get a bit more sleep too so I’m very grateful for the coffee, but I’m not gonna fall asleep on you. Don’t worry.”

“Oh, well,” he said with a charming lopsided smirk, “I wouldn’t mind, exactly.”

“If I literally fell asleep on you?”

His smirk grew bigger, and Belle giggled. They drove in silence for a little while as she sipped her coffee and found her eyes constantly drifting to his hands on the steering wheel.

“You know,” he started, reaching for his own coffee when they came to a standstill at the lights. “Earlier, Granny gave me the strangest look.”

“Did she?”

He couldn’t reply right away because he was taking a sip from his coffee. Instead, he made a muffled _mm_ sound and nodded. From his hand around the cup, she let her gaze drift to his neck, his jaw, clean-shaven and angular. She wondered what he would look like with a bit of stubble. Somehow it was just as difficult to picture as with the khakis, with the important difference that she was actually curious about this. God, but he was handsome. Did he know? He must know. Man like him wouldn’t keep his hair that long and his suits that impeccable unless he knew what he looked like.

“She did indeed,” he sighed as he put his cup back in the holder. “I didn’t really come round all that often before, and now suddenly I’m dropping by getting coffee for two.”

He took his eyes off the road to flash her a quick meaningful smile.

“Ooh, so Granny’s on to us, is she?” she sang, his mischievous smile infectious.

He shook his head. “I wouldn’t worry about it.”

_Who’s worrying?_

Oh. Right. They were still… being careful. For Neal. Belle felt last night’s heaviness sneak right back into the pit of her stomach, just a little bit, nestling itself there quite comfortably. She kept forgetting. It kept popping back up. She was never prepared for it.

“You don’t think she could tell someone and it could get to Neal that way?”

“Not really. She wouldn’t in a million years think anyone would ever want to date me. More than once, in any case. Least of all someone like you.”

“Someone like me?”

_Too young? Inexperienced? Unsophisticated?_

No, that was the heaviness talking. She mustn’t let it. She plastered on a big smile and hoped he would misunderstand, and when he narrowed his eyes at her playfully, she knew she’d succeeded. He thought she was fishing for compliments, just to tease him. Good. Much better than the reality of the situation. She didn’t want him picking up on the fact that she was feeling a little bit pathetic today.

“Beautiful,” he said in a deeper voice, making those butterflies flutter up again. “Cheerful and sweet. Lively. Bit younger.”

 _Bit_ younger. He said it quietly and then looked away again, looking very serious as he drove.

“Maybe that’s cause she doesn’t know you the way I do. Not that I - … I mean, not that I know you, as in _know_ you, you know? But I mean…” Shit, did that sound like she meant it in the biblical sense? Or worse: presumptuous? She paused and glanced at him, but he just looked curious. “I mean you probably don’t give people a chance to get to know you.”

He made a thoughtful sound and looked ahead in concentration, brow creased. It took him a little too long to reply and it was making her anxious, so in a secretive tone she hurriedly added, “Unless you two have a secret past, and _that’s_ why she doesn’t like you.”

His quiet chuckle was a relief. She hadn’t realized, but she’d been squeezing her coffee cup a little too tight, the plastic lid shifting as she eased back her death grip on the cardboard.

“Did you stand her up for a date a few years ago or something?” she joked.

“Oh, dear,” he sighed. “Your imagination is a wondrous thing, Belle, but frankly I’m insulted you think Granny and I are the same age.”

Confused, Belle made a face and frowned at him.

“Wait, what? I didn’t say that!”

“It was implied.”

“I don’t think so. I was just saying, you’re not averse to age gaps, so…”

She trailed off, hoping he was picking up on it now. His laughter was deep and rewarding, and it made her want to giggle.

“Oh, that was a _very_ smooth recovery. Impressive.”

“It wasn’t a recovery!” she gasped, close to indignant now. “I don’t think you and Granny are the same age at all! You’re just -”

Ah. Suddenly she realized. He was laughing under his breath, his smirk devious and a twinkle in his eye. He’d known what she meant all along, that clever little -

She pressed her lips together hard and tried not to smile, but it was impossible.

“It’s _much_ too early for you to be baiting me this expertly,” she said, shooting him a stern look, probably totally undermined by her incontrollable grin. She didn’t mean it anyway. He could keep doing it all day long if he liked.

“Apologies. It’s just a lot of fun, that’s all. You’re wonderfully… expressive.”

Belle raised her eyebrows, eyes wide. Expressive?

“Exactly like that,” he laughed.

“ _You’re_ expressive,” she muttered, feeling her face grow warmer when that made him laugh even more.

She said it like an eight-year-old returning an insult reflexively, but she meant it, and she liked it. It was difficult to see just _what_ he was expressing, but she had the feeling that when he tilted his head just so, or quirked his eyebrow, or lifted the corner of his mouth by just a fraction of a fraction of an inch, it always meant something more than she could make out. She wanted to get better at reading him.

So that was her excuse for staring at him a little more than was strictly socially acceptable as they drove, but he didn’t notice or bothered to point it out if he did. He was staring at the road ahead, occasionally looking over for a smile as they talked of unimportant things.

He drove them to a town she’d never been to, a cutesy little place with old-fashioned streetlights and planters with pink, white and blue flowers wherever there was room to put them. They parked, he got out his cane from the trunk, and they walked together down the street and towards what looked to be the town square. She wanted to sidle up to him and wrap her arm around his, but something was stopping her, and she didn’t know exactly what it was.

The clouds had gathered closer together, growing darker above them, heavy and looming. All that grey tried its very best to mute the bright colors of the flowers and the goods displayed on seemingly endless lines of folding tables forming a labyrinthian path through the town square and further into a shopping street. It still looked inviting, though. And it would probably rain, but at least they could run into a coffee shop somewhere if it did. Couldn’t have done that if this had been one of those things held in a field out in the middle of nowhere. They would have had to huddle in a shed with all the temporarily relocated cows and everyone else.

Or maybe in his car. In the back seat. With rain streaming down the windows, maybe the radio on real quiet, his hand on her knee, and -

“There should be some food stands, I think,” he said, his voice piercing her little daydream and drawing her back, “but I wouldn’t subject you to those. We could find somewhere decent to have lunch later.”

“Oh.”

She was right back in the moment, where it wasn’t raining (yet), and they weren’t alone, but instead surrounded by a pleasant din of chatter and laughter with music playing somewhere in the distance. He must have mistaken her faint daze for something else completely, because when he looked at her, his smile fell away and his face paled.

“Unless you’d like… Unless you _like_ … hotdogs, and the like. I didn’t mean to, uh… Because I’d be alright with hotdogs. Or hamburgers, or whatever they’re selling. Whatever you like.”

Belle smiled. There was still something stopping her from just grabbing his arm like she really wanted to, but it was easy to reach out touch his hand for just a moment, a brief touch to make that horrified look on his face go away.

“I’ll give it some thought,” she said, her grin growing even bigger when she noticed him sigh in relief. “So, you do this to find things for the shop, yeah?”

“Usually, yes,” he replied, nodding. “But not today.”

“No?”

“Oh no, no, today is not for business.”

“I wouldn’t mind if you had to look for a few things,” she said, letting her eyes travel over clocks and vases and porcelain things all arranged on crowded tables before looking back at him. What if he missed out on something? Something really valuable?

“I’d mind,” he replied with a boyish little smile that had her absolutely transfixed for a moment. That was why when he put his hand on her shoulder and stopped them right in front of a stall, she had no idea what for until she looked at what he was nodding at, and there, lined up in front of a table filled with various knick-knacks, were several cardboard boxes.

Stuffed full of books.

Tons and tons of books.

“Oh my God,” she gasped softly, stepping closer in a quiet sort of awe. Her eyes grew big, she could feel it. And of course they did; there was not a more beautiful sight in this world than that of the hastily laminated paper sign that promised in big, bold letters:

_Paperbacks: 20 cents  
Hardcovers: 40 cents_

The last thing that really registered in her mind right before she let herself gravitate towards her fate was his deep chuckle somewhere close behind her, and then she was _gone_ , her attention latched onto those boxes and their mysterious contents and absolutely nothing else. Belle sank down and crouched, making sure her skirt wouldn’t ride up too far and make her look too ridiculous, and then she began her adventure.

The books weren’t organized at all; they were just thrown together in big boxes like treasure for someone like her to find and rummage through. The smell of old paper and dusty attics was wonderfully intoxicating. Digging through with wide eyes, Belle encountered cheap pulp novels with brilliant over-the-top covers, classics bound in cloth with silver and gold lettering on the spines, and loads of relatively recent bestsellers she would have paid far more for had he taken her to a bookshop for a date instead. There was also a well-loved children’s book of fairy tales with gorgeous illustrations that she absolutely had to have, and a collection of horror short stories that looked like it might actually be a good read, and so many novels that she had lying around at home but with different covers, and even though she’d already read them (sometimes more than once) she loved them so much she couldn’t leave them there in those cardboard boxes to possibly lay there ignored forever. What if the unsold ones went into the incinerator at the end of the day? Could she really live with that on her conscience?

No. She could not.

Only his stifled groan alerted her to the fact that he had crouched down next to her, holding up a large white plastic shopping bag and smirking.

“Think this will do?”

Well, it _was_ a smirk and not a smile, but he could easily have offered to bring the car round so they could just dump the whole lot in the trunk as well. The fact that he hadn’t made her feel very, very warm inside. She liked the teasing, but this was lovely in its own special way. Just a fond look and a knowing smile, like he was just taking her in and finding her quite amusing enough without having to poke gentle fun at her quirks. Acceptance, maybe. It was nice.

“Perfect. For this stall, at least,” she joked. “Thank you.”

He helped her fill the bag with all of the books that had caught her eye. A dozen or so, at least. The woman behind the table, greying and jovial, counted them quickly and gave her a ridiculously tiny total that made her face light up in a childish sense of wonder. All those books, all those worlds, hours of being somewhere else and someone else, and it didn’t even cost as much as lunch.

“Shall I carry them for you?” he asked once she’d managed to tear herself away from the books she’d decided to leave behind.

“Oh, no, that’s alright. Thank you. You’re very sweet.”

They ambled between the rows of tables and stalls slowly, walking close, smiling at nothing in particular. Was this it, then? Not fifteen minutes after arriving, she’d gotten a ton of books, and he wasn’t going to look for anything, so was this really it? Just walking, now? That was fine by her, really, but there was still a hint of that strange mood clouding her mind, making her glance at him a little too often, to see what he was thinking. How he felt about being here with her. She wanted him to reach out and slide his arm in hers, but…

“So you have your work cut out for you, then,” he remarked. “How many did you get? Ten at least, right?”

Belle nodded. “But I’ve already read a few. Might read one or two again, but definitely not all of them.”

He raised his eyebrows, lips parting a bit in surprise. Was that weird? Oh, it was probably weird. Well.

“You’ve read some of these already?”

“Mm,” she replied absently, momentarily distracted as they passed another set of boxes that at first glance looked like they could have been full of books, but were actually stuffed with old records.

“Books you borrowed from the library? Books you lost? Did you give them away?”

She shook her head and looked back at him. He seemed curious and confused, eyebrows knitted together as he watched her closely.

“They’re just books I like. And they all have different covers than the ones I have at home, so,” she explained.

He was silent for a moment, looking very thoughtful. And then, slowly, he began to smile, stretching into a toothy grin.

“Ah, I see what this is now,” he lilted, leaning in a little as they walked. “You like _books_.”

“Uh -”

With a burst of shocked laughter, Belle screwed up her face and gave him a baffled look.

“Yeah, wasn’t that… I thought we established that? Have you been paying attention?”

“I mean as a physical object,” he clarified. His voice had sunk a little deeper, sending a pleasant shiver down her spine.

Utterly confused and distracted, Belle nearly bumped into a man carrying a little Maltese dog in his arms. It yapped sharply as they passed them by and the sound made her jump back and nearly bump into someone else instead, but there was a gently touch at her hip steadying her, preventing the collision. Brief. Briefer than she’d have liked. 

“Holding them, looking at them,” he continued as if she hadn’t just tripped over her own feet like a clumsy child with her shoelaces dragging on the ground might have. Twice. “Touching them. Keeping them. Do you ever get rid of a book once you’ve read it?”

“Well, no,” she replied quietly, then drew her lip in between her teeth to chew on it in thought. She hadn’t really thought of her love of books in those terms. Just literature, really, was what she thought she loved. Not books, necessarily, but he did have a point.

“Not even the terrible ones?”

“Definitely not. I don’t think I could ever destroy a book, and I wouldn’t inflict the awful ones on anyone else, unless they’re so bad they’re hilarious. But I’ve given good books away sometimes!”

“Ah, so you _can_ let go of a book!”

“Yeah, course I can! Well, I usually just buy a new copy and give them that one, but I think it counts.”

No. No, she knew that didn’t count now that she heard it out loud and it sounded ridiculous. She glanced at him and he was smiling benevolently, eyes twinkling with mirth. And even though she knew now, she still lowered her voice to a mutter and asked him, “It counts, right?”

“It’s alright,” he almost cooed, the brief touch of his hand on her elbow making her want to tell him to just wrap his arm around her waist already. “I understand wanting to hold on to things. You’ve seen my shop.”

“But that’s different. You sell things.”

“Well,” he sang, drawing out the sound as if he was considering it. He hummed and raised his eyebrows, wiggling his head left to right, then finally admitted, “Some things in there are overpriced for a reason.”

“Ooh, I see!”

“Good excuse, isn’t it? A pawn shop.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty genius. Maybe I should open a bookstore. Keep the ones I love on a shelf too high for anyone to reach.”

“I can picture it now,” he said, sweeping his hand through the air in front of them in an elegant gesture. “A single line of shelving all around the shop, nearly up against the ceiling. And absolutely nothing else.”

She giggled and found herself leaning into him without really making a conscious decision to, like he was a magnet and she was but a paperclip and it was a miracle she hadn’t flung herself into his arms already. When his arm began to move around her waist like she’d wanted all along, she let her head fall onto his shoulder and felt herself fill up with warmth and light. It felt brilliant until she tilted her head up, maybe hoping to kiss him if he happened to be smiling back at her.

He wasn’t looking at her. He wasn’t laughing along with her, or even smiling. She followed his worried gaze and saw a middle-aged man and a woman by a table full of wicker baskets, staring at them. The woman muttered something under her breath disapprovingly and then turned away.

_Oh._

His arm fell from her waist and left a chill that made her hide her hands up in the sleeves of her leather jacket to compensate. Her heart sank. It was heavy in her stomach, thudding slow. She swallowed a lump in her throat and looked up at the clouds because his awkward little smile was too painful to look at. She noticed the clouds were still very dark. Maybe even darker now. She’d almost forgotten. With a quick touch between her shoulder blades, he urged her to walk on, and they walked out of the maze of tables, out of the town square, into a street with even more tables and some food stands.

She knew she mustn’t let her vulnerable mood prod her imagination into overdrive.

Really, she shouldn’t.

But it stayed with her, that feeling. A little splinter, a sharp sting.

“Everything alright?” he asked gently.

“Mhm!” she replied with a smile she hoped wasn’t as obviously forced as his.

“It’s just that you look a little bit… I don’t know.”

“I’m alright.”

“You look… worried.”

Oh, God. Her heart sank a little lower. Why was he prodding like this? She felt the words rise up from the pit of her stomach, burning their way up to her mouth, and she had to say them. She had to say something. She had to ask, cause if she held it in, she might…

“So did you,” she murmured, hoping desperately that her voice wasn’t about to start shaking. “Earlier.”

He frowned. “Did I?”

“Yeah, I mean, you kind of did. When you pulled away.”

Her heart was racing now. She shoved her hands in the pockets of her jacket, fists clenched.

But still she smiled. She had to smile.

“What do you mean?”

“You noticed those people back there staring at us. Judging, I guess. And you sort of pulled back.”

That was when his eyes widened. Probably didn’t realize she’d noticed.

“Oh. But that wasn’t - … _I_ wasn’t -”

“It’s the age difference, right? And these clothes. Look too young, I guess.”

Oh, this was bad. She hadn’t meant to that say. Not like that. Not sounding like she did in that moment, mumbling a bit, trying too hard to smile.

“Now, Belle, hold on,” he said in a deep voice, a bit louder than before. 

But she couldn’t stop herself. The words were flowing up now, burning her throat.

“I thought about wearing something else,” she heard herself say, her lips still twisted in a smile, “but I figured we’d be doing a lot of walking, so…”

“Belle, stop.”

And she did, literally. They stood in the middle of the street as happily chatting locals passed them by without a care. He stepped closer, his dark eyes intense and determined.

“Please tell me you don’t think I was _embarrassed?_ ”

She wrapped her arms around herself and shrugged, looking at his shoulder, not quite meeting his insistent stare. “I don’t know. Maybe?”

He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, she noticed from the corner of her eye. She liked it when he did that. She always wanted to join right in.

_Oh, please, set me straight._

“I like you in this,” he murmured gently, reaching out to touch her collar, thumb brushing over the fabric. “I’d like you in anything. You could be half of a pantomime horse with a person I absolutely despise, and I’d still like you in _that_.”

“Don’t try to make me laugh,” she demanded half-heartedly.

At the same time, she let her smile come back. Sincerely, but still fragile. Because even though her heart had calmed with those words and that little touch, and her hands were no longer fists in her pockets, she was still wary. She was wary, and embarrassed about this outburst that wasn’t really an outburst, but more a sudden leak of self-confidence leaving her half-deflated and absolutely nothing like the person she really was.

And he looked so sweet and kind, so concerned and patient and perfect. She wasn’t ruining this already, was she? Cause that would have been record time for her. Fuck.

“I’m completely serious. I pulled away, yes, but not because I’m - … I thought _you’d_ mind, Belle. The looks. You’re young and gorgeous and I’m a crippled old antiques dealer. Those people had absolutely no idea what you were doing with a man like me, and frankly, I don’t blame them. I wanted them to stop staring before you noticed them, that was all.”

Oh. Well, that was better. Except… No, wait, what? She stared hard, her mouth slightly open, because how on earth could he have come to that conclusion?

“But that doesn’t make sense, cause I was all over you, and I knew we weren’t exactly alone.”

It was his turn to look blank now, his eyes big and bright in the pale light filtered through the thick blanket of rainclouds up above. His mouth opened and closed once or twice; he was probably so used to having a clever reply at the ready that his lips didn’t realize his brain hadn’t caught up yet. It was cute, actually. But she would have loved an explanation too, because she still didn’t understand.

“Back in the diner,” he managed eventually, pausing to lick his lips, “that day we saw each other again. The first time. You said you didn’t mean to kiss me.”

Belle blinked a few times, then shook her head. “I didn’t plan that, but I wanted to. I also said I didn’t regret it.”

“And in the car earlier, you seemed worried about Granny finding out.”

“I’m not. I thought _you_ were, cause of Neal. That’s why I asked.”

A few seconds of confused silence punctured by the sound of that little dog somewhere behind them barking its little heart out, and then a soft _oh_ of realization.

“I think I… I think I’ve been misinterpreting quite a few things, ever since you said you were… impulsive.”

Oh dear God, was that it? Belle wanted to grab him by the lapels while he was mumbling his quiet explanation, wanted to pull him into a hug, wanted to berate him for presuming and apologize for doing the _exact same thing_.

“Impulsive, not flighty. Did you think I’d get home later and suddenly regret being openly affectionate with you or something?”

He didn’t even nod, but his vaguely guilty look (head tilted down a bit, gorgeous dark eyes entirely too puppy-like) spoke volumes. “I now see how that might be… a bit patronizing,” he admitted.

Belle sighed, releasing some of the pent up tension in her sleep-deprived little body. This was stupid, so _incredibly_ stupid, but it wasn’t the disaster she thought it was, and that was good. He wasn’t embarrassed, he was just… Well, presumptuous? She could deal with that.

“Yeah, a bit. I guess. Just weird, most of all. But I prefer that to what I thought it was.”

Cause that would have been a deal-breaker. That was why her heart was still beating a bit faster than normal. She hadn’t realized exactly how close to disaster they’d been. She watched him closely as he nodded and straightened himself a bit, casting off that guilty look.

“Well, then. Please think of me as incredibly weird, and a touch patronizing, but let me make this crystal clear, Belle - I’d pick you up and carry you around with me absolutely everywhere if I could.”

The change in his voice was remarkable. None of that guilt, and not even close to a mumble. There was only confidence and even a bit of force as he held her gaze steady and continued, “I’d have you wrapped around my arm every hour of every day if that was an option. Forget those people, Belle.”

Every hour? Every day? Would it be weird to tell him that was totally an option? She felt the corners of her mouth twitch. With every word, he took away some of that heaviness that had settled so firmly in her chest.

“I don’t care about them,” she replied, shaking her head. “I’m used to people giving me weird looks. I care about what you think, that’s all. But not… I mean, usually not like this. I didn’t mean to jump to conclusions. Maybe I didn’t get enough sleep after all.”

“Maybe I should have let you fall asleep on me in the car,” he teased.

The rest of her pent up nerves left her body in the form of a giggle, and she reached out to bat weakly at his arm, which he caught in a single smooth movement, his hand sliding down over the leather of her jacket, her rubber bracelets, to finally fold over her hand.

“So no-one’s embarrassed,” she said, blushing when he flashed her a handsome smile. “Except me. Right now. For thinking you were embarrassed.”

“And me, for exactly the same reason.”

“Guess we sort of deserve it for assuming, huh?”

He laughed and nodded, and she felt light again. Her face was red, still. She could feel the heat. She was still embarrassed that she let a simple misunderstanding almost ruin their date like that, but he was holding her hand now and swaying their arms ever so slightly as they walked, and then as if the universe was truly sick and tired of her seeing problems where there weren’t any, he slowed down a little and in a soft, deep voice, told her something that made her heart skip a beat.

“Since you said you care about what I think… I’m thinking about how much I’d like to kiss you, now.”

Her heart sped up and beat its way down into her stomach where it thudded heavily and made her feel vaguely ill in a brilliant way. She couldn’t read him. Her mouth was dry.

She let her tongue flick out over her lips to wet them and then she replied, “Now? Because you want to prove something?”

He narrowed his eyes at her in that playful glare of his that turned her insides liquid if he subjected her to it a little too long.

“Because I want to kiss you. I know we said to take things slow, but now I’m beginning to suspect I may have tragically misinterpreted that as well.”

Oh. _Oh._ Yeah, tragically was right. She licked her lips again, felt herself begin to grin a bit Cheshire Cat-like. She could have him kiss her right now. Right here.

Or were they still playing?

“It’s alright,” she mewled, forcing down her smile and trying not to giggle at the way his confident look fell away in an instant. “There’s no need. You’re not embarrassed, I believe you.”

She tugged at his hand, trying to pull him along so they could walk to a slightly less _right-in-the-middle-of-the-bloody-road_ kind of spot where she could throw her arms around his neck and kiss him properly, but he was quite unmoving, and then a deep rumbling sound in his throat made her freeze in place. She dropped his hand and turned around, a single eyebrow raised.

Well, that was an interesting look. Not quite a pout, not quite a smirk, but still something in between, and a darkness in his eyes that made her breath catch in her throat.

“What was that?” she teased, trying to hide just how much that look of his affected her. “Did you just _growl?_ ”

He pushed his lips together in a thin line, but there was laughter in his eyes. She could tell.

“Belle, I assure you, I did no such thing.”

“You growled!” she giggled. “You growled because I didn’t kiss you!”

“That wasn’t your stomach?” he tried, smirking now.

“You know it wasn’t!” Belle gasped in mock dismay. “I didn’t kiss you, and your response to that was a growl!”

He huffed and folded his arms across his chest. “I may have made a slight sound of displeasure, yes. It was not, however, a growl.”

“Definitely was,” she retorted, her voice deep and mocking.

“Certainly wasn’t.”

She couldn’t hold back her laughter anymore, and when she broke, he did too, and with the way his hair flopped down in front of his slowly reddening face as he tried to hide his boyish grin (why on earth he would want to do that was a mystery to her, but today was not the day to delve into that) she found the rest of her resolve melting away like snow in the sun. Screw a quiet spot. She wanted to kiss his stupid gorgeous face, and she wanted to kiss it now.

“Come here,” she told him, and she closed the distance between them in quick, determined steps, grabbing his shoulders, standing on her tiptoes to catch his lip between hers in a long needed kiss. She almost mewled in delight when his large hands slipped inside of her jacket to run up her back and pull her close. They fit together so perfectly, it was like melting into him with her arms draped over his shoulders, his lips moving against hers, his hair tickling the back of her hands, and _God_ he smelled nice.

She could hear a wolf whistle somewhere in the distance, and it probably wasn’t for them, but it made them both laugh anyway, breaking their lovely kiss. They stayed close, even after she dropped back down to her heels and lost that height she needed to get to his lips. She left her hands perched on his shoulders, and he stared down at her with a look impossible to decipher, and ah, screw it. She slid her hands against his cheeks and guided his head down for another kiss. Softer now, but closer somehow. His hands were still under her jacket, spread out against her back, hot and _everywhere_.

Fuck. She wanted him. The warmth was turning into heat, and she had to stop now. Had to let go of his face, had to stop kissing him before it got obvious.

She was blushing, she knew that. But a shy glance at his face confirmed that she wasn’t alone, and Belle felt comfortable enough to wrap her arm around his and pull herself closer as they began to walk again. No idea where to, but that didn’t matter.

“I think you growled,” she murmured with a little smirk.

“I think you liked it.”

She squeezed his arm tight. He squeezed back. He wasn’t wrong.

They spent the rest of the morning wandering aimlessly between old things both valuable and useless, and she even bought a few more books until that plastic bag he’d gotten her was starting to look like it was in its third trimester. Lunch was pizza in a little Italian restaurant at the end of the street, and then she was in his ridiculous car again, books in the back seat, smile on her face, belly full of pizza. It hadn’t rained, either. Those clouds were still threatening dreariness up above, but they were safe in his car now. If it started raining now, it wouldn’t matter one jot.

She was sleepy, having difficulties keeping her eyes open as the deep hum of the engine droned on. She tried to talk to him to keep her mind busy, but it seemed like he knew she was exhausted, giving only short answers, speaking in a low voice, smiling at her so knowingly and handsomely it almost excited her back out of that half slumber she was in. When he parked in front of her building, she perked up, stretching subtly in her seat, smiling bright, stifling a yawn.

“I told you we needn’t have gotten there so early,” he said, looking a little guilty again. “Something at a less unholy hour next time, I promise, Belle.”

“I didn’t mind! I had a great time, really.”

“I did too, and I’m glad, but still,” he replied, smiling fondly. “I’d like to take you out for a proper dinner soon.”

“A proper dinner?” she repeated, twisting in her seat to face him better, taking the opportunity to stretch her legs a bit. (There was room for that in this huge car!)

“Mm. Stuffy restaurant to criticize, roses, wine…”

“Candlelight?” she added with a grin, eyebrows raised.

“The works. It might take a little while to figure out when. If Neal sees me getting ready to meet you, he’ll know.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. He’s clever, and my pokerface can only hide so much excitement,” he joked, making her grin again. “But he goes out with his friends often enough. I’m sure it won’t take too long.”

“Sure. That’s alright. You just let me know when.”

She had to go dress shopping then. She supposed she could swing that if she swallowed her pride let him buy lunch next time. Yeah, something black and simple, or red, maybe. She’d seen him wearing ties in various shades of red. Would it be tacky to match?

“I will. But in the mean time, I, uh, I’ve really enjoyed your company in the shop,” he said, pausing to lick his lips, his fingers tapping against the bottom of the steering wheel softly. “And if you wanted to keep dropping by… Well, I’d like that a lot, Belle.”

“Yeah, course!”

The way he said her name so often, so naturally, was going to be the death of her. It never sounded better. And how brilliant it was to know that he wanted her in his shop some more, drinking coffee, flirting, maybe kissing lots now, too. His smile was all boyish again.

She wanted him to kiss her.

She’d kiss him if she had to, but really, honestly, she wanted him to kiss her.

But he didn’t.

“Well then,” Belle sighed, reluctantly unbuckling her seatbelt. Couldn’t stay there in his car waiting forever.

He nodded towards the books on the backseat. “I’ll help carry those up.”

“Nah, that’s alright. I can handle it!”

“Are you sure?”

“It's just one bag,” she replied, scrunching up her face.

He raised an eyebrow. “With the contents of a small town library.”

“Most of them are tiny paperbacks!” she cried, looking over her shoulder and there, there under the back seat, was an umbrella.

“Everything alright? Don’t tell me you’re missing a book.”

Belle looked at him and marveled at his warm smile. He’d brought an umbrella. All this time, worrying about the rain, cursing herself for not having one herself, and he’d brought one.

“No, it’s all there.”

“Oh. Good.”

Maybe if she stared at his lips long enough. Maybe then he’d cave. What was it she had to do, here, seriously? Ask for it?

“I’ve been meaning to ask.” He cleared his throat and slowly brought his hand up to her face, sending her heart beating, making her part her lips just a touch in anticipation but then he asked her, “Did, uh… Did that one hurt?” and gently tapped the pierced side of her nose.

_That one._

Was he thinking about the other one? Belle stifled a soft chuckle.

“Not at all, except for the part where a burly man with a beard shoved a needle through my nostril…”

“Right, yes,” he laughed, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “Obviously. Sorry.”

“I didn’t mind you asking. I get it a lot, but I don’t mind.”

Not from him, when he smiled like that, when he made excuses to touch her like that when by now he should have realized that he didn’t need any excuse at all. And if he didn’t kiss her now, she would scream.

Not caring very much at all that there was a significant chance she sounded like a tween with a crush, she asked him, “Do you want to kiss me?”

His raised brow screamed _useless question_ but his smile was a little nervous, twitching at the corner of his mouth. More of this would be nice. Just as much over the top flirting, just as much back and forth, but just a little more of this electricity underneath too. The idea that maybe she made him as nervous as he made her.

“I’m just asking,” she sighed with an attempt at an indifferent shrug that probably came across a bit dramatic, “cause I wouldn't want you to start growling again.”

His grin turned wolfish. “Oh, you _wouldn’t?_ ”

She giggled and looked down into her lap, her fingers playing with the zipper of her jacket. She wondered… If she dawdled enough, played coy, would he take the lead then? She didn’t mind kissing him first, but -

 _Click_.

The sound of his seatbelt being unbuckled made her look up in surprise. Before she knew it, he’d moved closer, slid his cool hand against her cheek and leaned in with zero hesitation to capture her lips in a kiss - _the_ kiss she’d been craving for so long.

She damn near crawled into his lap but settled for his one hand on her cheek and the other on the collar of her jacket, gently tugging her just that little bit closer, then touching her neck, making her shiver. He pulled back just a little bit. She only caught a glimpse of his eyes through her lashes before he put a fingertip just under her chin and guided her closer again to kiss her lips one more time.

He left her speechless for a little while, blushing probably, wanting more. But not now. Not for a while, in all likelihood. She wanted him, but she’d want him to stay, and they couldn’t do that. Not now.

“So, should I stop by the shop this week?” she asked, her voice a little higher and weaker than she’d expected.

“Whenever you like.”

At least he sounded just as breathless.

Up the steps to her studio Belle went, that plastic bag a bit heavier than she’d pretended it was just to keep the banter between the two of them going, and God, she was tired. He’d nearly kissed her lights out, that man. She caught her goofy smile in the mirror on the back of her door and smiled even bigger.

She didn’t need to worry so much about his feelings for her. He liked her. She’d finish another review tonight, maybe. Sidney might call her about that job this week, and then she could stop worrying about money. It was good that she’d quit. Girl like her with a guy like him was a strange enough thing without the girl in question being stuck in a job an unreliable high schooler could have kept down. This way, they made a little more sense together.

First, a nap. Curled up in her bed, the rain ticked pleasantly against the window and glass sliding door to her little balcony (her studio’s only saving grace) and Belle’s smile only faded when she tumbled into sleep.


	7. Gravity/Iodine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A proper date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you. <3
> 
> M rating's for the next chapter, really, but I figured once an erection is mentioned, it's not quite so T anymore, so there you have it.

Gold felt a little silly for thinking that there was something of a faint glow about her. Maybe it was just the sunset. Still, she looked lovely with her hair falling over her bare shoulder, smiling bright and sneaking a glance at her feet as she walked down the concrete steps in front of her apartment building, careful so as not to trip in those heels and that tight black dress complicating the descent somewhat. And for the umpteenth time since he’d met her, Gold felt lucky. Ridiculously lucky, and a little suspicious of reality, actually, so that when she came up to him for a kiss (she didn’t have to reach in those heels tonight) he put his hand on her hip and squeezed just a little. Just to make sure she was really there.

The restaurant was nice and busy. A small Italian place on the other side of town, the electricity bill of which Gold imagined must have been remarkably low, considering the lighting. Or lack of it. But he’d promised her candlelight, and there was lots of it. Their table was somewhere a little more peaceful - right in the back, their neighbors a large potted fern on her side, a disused grandfather clock on his.

He had a little trouble finding something to say with her smiling at him from across the table. The warm light danced in her eyes, made her tiny little nose stud glint, made her skin look even softer than it always did. If he’d forced himself to say something then, it would have been something unforgivably cheesy, so he was grateful when Belle took it upon herself to kill that charming silence of theirs before it became an awkward one.

“You said it'd be stuffy!” she said, beaming as the waiter left them with their wine. “This place isn’t stuffy at all!”

“I know. I couldn’t bring myself to put you through that in the end. If you want, I'll compensate by being extra dull.”

“That’s alright! We can bore each other by slogging through those typical date questions. Like, how long have you lived here?”

Gold smiled, grateful for her valiant and effective if somewhat heavy handed effort to get the conversation going.

“Sixteen years, almost. And you?”

“We moved here when I was fifteen. No, fourteen! Almost fifteen. I remember cause my dad felt so bad that I didn’t have any friends I could hang out with on my birthday, he took me to Disney World. Even though we couldn’t really afford to go.”

_Poor lost little thing._

“And did that make up for it?”

For a few seconds, she stared at the little glass candle holder between them with a wistful smile. Then she shrugged.

“Well, it was fun, and I always wanted to go, so I guess it did. Have you ever been?”

“Can’t say that I have.”

“Did Neal never beg you to go?”

“His mother took him once.”

He was already filling with regret the moment he heard his own voice speak the words, but the the sudden, soft _oh_ on Belle’s lips really cemented it. Just should have said no, really. It wouldn’t have been a lie, and it would have been nice to have that elephant in the room stay unnoticed a little while longer.

But it seemed Belle felt the exact same way. Gone was the slightly surprised look on her face in an instant, replaced with another smile. And onwards to the next question, she plowed -

“Scotland’s always seemed so lovely to me. Why did you leave?”

\- straight into another subject he would much rather have ignored for as long as it was plausibly reasonable to do so. The _when_ of it was alright. Purely factual. Numbers. Years. Safe. The _why_ of it, not so much.

“Oh. Fresh start, I suppose,” he replied with a calm smile.

That was all she needed to know. Before she could ask him to elaborate - and he could tell from the look in her eyes that she wanted to - he decided to ask her the same.

“What about you? Did you get bored of the sunshine?”

She laughed, shaking her head.

“We moved cause… Well, same as you, really. Fresh start. There was a business opportunity for my dad, and there wasn’t much to keep us there, so…”

Her voice trailed off, and her eyes were drawn to the candle between them again. No sign of a smile this time. Seemed this wasn’t exactly a preferred topic for either of them.

“I like the weather here better,” she continued softly. “I like clouds. I even love rain - when I don’t have to go out, I mean. Not that there wasn’t any over there, but, you know.”

“That explains your romantic notions about Scotland. Bet you’d be sick of it within the week.”

Belle pushed her eyebrows together and gave him a skeptical look. “It can’t be that bad! I’m sure you miss it, really.”

He pretended to think it over for a moment, then scrunched his nose and told her, “Nah.”

“Yeah, you do.”

She looked so sure of herself then with her lovely grin, that he couldn’t bring himself to protest. One of things he’d discovered and grown to love about her was the way her face lit up when she was given even the slightest opportunity to be a little bit _right_.

So with a sigh of defeat, Gold sat back in his chair, shrugged and lied, “Perhaps a little bit.”

Her grin was instantaneous, victorious, infectious. Did things to him in this romantic dim light. Made him want to linger in front of her apartment later, and wait for her to ask him up for tea. Coffee. Anything. Any old excuse.

“There you go! Now was that really so hard?”

She brought her glass up to her lips while she waited for a reply, one eyebrow raised expectantly. With a fond smile, Gold watched her take a long sip of her red wine and thought to himself: _Not at all._

“Terribly.”

Her little snort of laughter was the cherry on the cake.

“Do you have a lot of family here?” he asked.

“No. My dad moved back to Australia a few years ago.”

“So it’s just you? No relatives?”

Belle nodded, one corner of her mouth pulling up in another of her mysterious smiles, the ones that were entire stories waiting to spill if he just asked, or topped up her glass and waited patiently.

“He asked me to come with him, but I didn’t wanna go back.”

“You went to university here, didn’t you? I can imagine you wouldn’t want to leave your friends behind.”

She’d been nodding, but then she stopped and looked a little startled. Christ, what was happening? They were talking themselves down one-way streets tonight, and it wasn’t even as if they were purposely broaching difficult subjects, here.

“Ah. Yeah. That wasn’t really…”

She trailed off again, paused to lick her lips.

“Yeah. But, I mean, this is my home now. I spent a good chunk of my life here, and I’d miss it.”

Gold mentally added _‘friends other than Jefferson’_ to the list of things that made their conversation dry up and shrivel like a leaf in November.

“Do you wish your father lived closer?”

“Not really. I miss him, but it’s good to have some distance between us. We get along for the most part, but he, uh… He has a habit of meddling. Going behind my back to help me out, but still going behind my back, you know?”

Gold nodded, because he knew that was what he was supposed to do, but really, he didn’t understand why a bit of protectiveness would put entire oceans between a daughter and her father. Was that really so bad?

“Hasn’t stopped him completely though. Last week, he asked me if he could pass my number on to one of his colleagues, to try and set me up with the guy’s son.”

Well bless the fucking Pacific ocean! What a dreadful meddling bastard! What an utter -

_Wait._

Gold felt his shoulders stiffen, his limbs freeze up in a sudden terrifying moment of uncertainty. He hoped his eyes hadn’t grown to the size of saucers, but he knew he was making some type of face. How could he not have been?

“So did… did you…”

His mouth dry, he hoped, prayed Belle wouldn’t need him to finish that sentence.

“Oh my God, what?” she blurted, looking at him as if he’d spoken in tongues. “Course I didn’t! I’m dating you, aren’t I? I’m not interested in anyone else.”

Apparently, his relieved sigh and his smile weren’t obvious enough, because she paled and asked him, “ _You’re_ not… seeing anyone else, right?”

“Oh, God no! No!”

“Alright. Phew! Okay, sorry, I just… Cause you thought I might have accepted -”

“No, complete misunderstanding,” he cut in, forcing a smile. “I didn’t really think you’d - … I wasn’t thinking. Course you didn’t. Forget it.”

She softened in that moment, and he wasn’t sure how she’d managed, but she had. Truly, she got even softer. Her eyebrows arched and her lips parted in a compassionate look that simultaneously warmed and shamed him. She leaned forward, reached for his hand across the table and covered it with both of hers.

He felt his face grow red, embarrassed that he’d dropped the act for long enough for her to sense his weakness. But her skin was so soft, and there was such kindness in her eyes. He waited with bated breath for her to say something sweet and ruin him completely, make him feel even more pathetic than he already did, but she didn’t. Her lips twisted into a little smile, and she stroked the back of his fingers just once as she took her hands back.

“Anyway, the fact that he asked me first this time was a bloody miracle. He wouldn’t have bothered a few years ago.”

Oh. Onwards then. He smiled, still feeling her warmth on his skin despite the fact that her hands were long gone and quite busy pushing her food around on her plate now. Seemed neither of them was very hungry tonight.

“What about your mum?”

The soft ceramic ticking of her fork in her plate of spaghetti ceased immediately. If it weren’t for the busy din of chatting diners and delightfully cliché mandolin music in the background, the silence would have been deafening. _Again?_ How could a conversation this basic be such an unpredictable minefield?

“She passed away,” she said quietly, looking up from her plate with a brave little smile. To assure him, no doubt, that she was alright. His frustration with himself vanished. All that was left was an urge to stand up, pull her up with him and hold her. Nothing more.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It's alright,” she told him, putting on a bigger smile. Then she perked up quite suddenly, scanned the room with bright eyes for a moment, and asked, “So is this where you take all the shop girls you meet?”

Gold raised his brow. It was a rather abrupt and less than smooth change of subject that left him momentarily speechless. But he knew that it was his duty to go along with it, not to dally, not to pick and poke at old wounds. Just like she had spared him, mere moments before.

“ _All_ the -”

Her sudden giggle cut him off, and he sat back in his chair, grinning and shaking his head.

“Oh, yes,” he teased in a deep voice. “All of them. Tens. Hundreds. I’ve lost count.”

Her laughter was so tremendously nice to hear in the desert of their strange stilted conversation, dotted with silences and sore spots. When she laughed like this, the skin around her eyes crinkled and the light made her eyes twinkle. She was so beautiful his poor heart could barely take the sight.

“I was kind of serious, though! I find it difficult to believe you haven’t had offers.”

“Offers?”

She snorted, but looked down into her plate with a shy smile that told him she was about to blush any minute now, which was brilliant. He couldn’t wait.

“You know what I mean.”

Outright denial would have been a lie and a mysterious shrug might drive his stock up a bit, he figured, so, “Well, I’ve never taken anyone here before, I can assure you that,” he said.

Her little smile was deliciously pleased, and it set something intangible in motion, something warm and electric that her words did nothing to slow.

“Good. I like being a first.”

There was nothing particularly meaningful about those words, let alone anything salacious, but now there was a strong pull in the pit of his stomach. Something he hadn’t felt in a very long time - not to this extent. And her cheeks were all red now, and she kept fighting her lips down into a more subdued smile than the one he sensed wanted desperately to break out.

It quietened them, this mood they suddenly found themselves in. Their conversation much slower, their voices softer, their looks lasting a little longer. He couldn’t inch his chair any closer without bruising a rib on the table edge. She was leaning in so close he had to reach out and stop her hair from falling into a smear of chocolate sauce left on her dessert plate at one point, nearly knocking over her empty wine glass in the process.

He never finished his own glass of wine. Didn’t want to, because he had to drive, but didn’t need to either. He was swimming in something far headier now, a cloud of something thick and consuming that only cleared on their way out of the restaurant, when Belle tripped on the threshold and fell down with a little yelp that made his heart jump and then fall down straight into his stomach.

“Belle!”

He crouched down next to her, one hand on her arm, the other on her shoulder. She’d caught herself with her palms on the concrete, but she’d scraped her knee. He could tell. With a little hiss of pain that made his heart hurt, she let him help her up. His own ankle burned, but he didn’t care. He’d live.

“Belle, darling, are you alright?”

“Mortified, but alive,” she laughed breathily, giving his hand a grateful squeeze before letting go. “These _bloody_ heels!”

As she wiggled and pulled her dress back down (it had slipped up just an inch or so), he noticed a bright red spot on her right knee. She’d scraped it, alright. It was bleeding. Damn his incompetence tonight. He should have held her arm when they walked out. Should have reacted quicker, at least, not let her crumble to the ground like that.

“We need to get that cleaned up,” he decided, picking up the leather jacket that had slipped from her shoulders when she took that tumble, draping it over his arm for safekeeping.

“Get what cleaned up?”

“You scraped your knee,” he explained. “You’re bleeding.”

She raised her eyebrows but looked completely unalarmed. It was at that point that Gold started to consider that perhaps, _perhaps_ , it wasn’t as bad as he thought it was.

But when he looked down at her knee again, following Belle’s own skeptical gaze, he could have sworn that there was a growing drop of blood just waiting to swell and trickle down her leg, and he decided that no, they absolutely needed to take care of this. He didn’t have any tissues in his car, and he felt terrible for letting her fall, and he needed to get her back inside before that droplet started traveling down her skin.

“Oh, honestly, I’m hardly _bleeding!_ ”

“There’s blood. Right there.”

“But it’s not pouring out of me or anything. It’s fine.”

“Belle,” he sighed, looking at her pleadingly, urgently, _desperately_.

He kept up that look for a moment, and she stared back as if she were waiting for the punchline to a joke. Seconds passed until her grin faded and shifted into a bemused, curious smile.

“Alright,” she acquiesced, letting him take her arm in his. “But for the record, that look is completely unfair.”

“Perhaps it might comfort you to know that I have no idea what look you’re talking about, so it’s unlikely I’ll ever knowingly use it against you.”

Holding on to her arm, Gold guided her back inside where a friendly waiter immediately noticed their little predicament and led them into a small office space in the back of the restaurant, promising to return with a first aid kit posthaste. It didn’t take very long for the young man to bring them a box of tissues and an old tupperware box filled with bandages and the like. Gold slipped him a twenty and sent him on his way.

While Belle took a few steps into the room, carrying the box, Gold draped her jacket over the back of a desk chair with great care. Unfortunately, it didn’t go unnoticed.

“I’m beginning to think you like that jacket more than I do,” she remarked, laughter in her voice.

Gold smiled but didn’t say a word. She needn’t know about that. She could have her suspicions all she liked, but he wasn’t going to admit to a single thing.

The room they were left alone in looked to be a converted kitchen, although very little conversion had taken place. There was just a desk in the center of the room, now, and a filing cabinet pushed up against the wall next to the door. The walls opposite were still lined with kitchen counters, and there was still a sink under the window too. Belle walked up to it, tested it to see if it still worked. The pipes made a strange noise, but sure enough, after a second or two, the water began to flow. She turned towards him with a victorious smile and hoisted herself up on the counter next to the sink, her legs dangling.

“D’you think we’re gonna have to amputate, doc?” she joked as she dabbed a wet tissue on her knee rather uselessly. He would have joked back, but he was distracted by how awful a job she was doing. She wasn’t even looking at her knee; she was just smirking. At _him_.

Managing not to tut with only the greatest of efforts, Gold walked closer, took the tissue from her, and as gently as he could, removed that bit of dirt that had been bothering him ever since he’d noticed it from the red abrasion. It wasn’t really bleeding as much as he first thought it was, but it looked like it stung.

“Tell me if I’m hurting - …”

At that moment, he realized just what he was doing. Just when he said those words, when he registered the utter, utter softness of the skin of the back of her knee on his fingers, when he glanced up carefully, nervous as to what he might find, and saw her watching him with a smile that made his heart stop in his chest. He swallowed.

He was holding her leg.

“You… weren’t getting the dirt out of there,” Gold explained, his voice smaller than he thought it would be.

Her smile twitched, then grew bigger, and she gave him a little nod, which he took as a sign to just carry on with what he was doing. So he stepped closer, and she let him lift her knee a little higher so he could see better in the dim light of the sole lightbulb dangling from the ceiling in the middle of the room.

“Really though, I’ve seen the way you look at that jacket.”

Gold bit down on the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning. So she’d latched onto that, evidently. Oh dear. The white of the tissue was pink with blood now, and there was still a bit of dirt left around the corners of the abrasion.

“Hand me another tissue, please,” he said calmly, resisting the urge to tack on the word ‘nurse’ to the end of that sentence.

“It’s almost enough to make me jealous of a piece of clothing. My own clothing, at that.”

If he bit down on his cheek any harder, he would start bleeding next. The pipes made their strange noises as Belle wetted the second tissue. Her fingers brushed his when he took it from her, and he felt his lips respond to her smirk despite his efforts to keep a straight face. The blush on her cheeks had spread lower, down her pretty neck, tinting the skin of her upper chest a lovely shade of pink.

Well. Ignoring her little remarks didn’t stop her from making them. So…

“Shall we really get into who's been looking at what, darling?” he sighed in a bored tone belying his thudding heart behind his ribs.

Bluff. Complete and utter bluff. 

“Sure, let’s! _I’m_ not the one looking down _your_ dress right now.”

He snapped his head up to gape at her in shock, eyes wide. Belle’s deep, delicious giggle stopped him from bursting into a hundred stuttering denials, but it was too late. She got him. She was tripping over her own feet just a few minutes ago, but oh, she got him just fine now.

Shaking his head with mock disapproval, Gold gave her leg a little warning squeeze. “You’re bad, you are.”

“Whatever. Payback for last Thursday.”

“Thursday?” he repeated, furrowing his brow. “What did I do Thursday?”

“You told me the paint on that toy car was heat sensitive, you jerk!”

“Oh, that’s right! I did!” he sang, grinning wickedly as he dabbed off the last remaining bit of blood. “God, that was funny.”

That Thursday, Belle had gone nosing around in a cardboard box full of mostly worthless things someone had left on his doorstep in the morning, before he’d even arrived. And she just looked so sweet pushing that bright red race car along the edge of the counter that he simply couldn’t help himself. She bought it hook line and sinker, got so excited he very nearly felt bad.

“It wasn’t funny! I held that thing for ten minutes trying to warm it up!” she cried, trying very hard to turn her grin into a pout. “ _Ten_ minutes trying to get it to turn yellow!”

She only figured it out because he couldn’t hold back his laughter anymore when she held the car up to her face, peered at it and told him it was _definitely_ looking more orange now.

“Twelve minutes,” he corrected her, grabbing another tissue from the box to dry her off with. “And you were just the cutest thing for all twelve of those.”

With her little blush and her smile, and the dim light catching her eyes so prettily, it took him far too long to find what he was looking for in the restaurant’s makeshift first aid kit.

“ _You’re_ cute.”

Oh, really now. Gold shook his head in denial but couldn’t quite manage to keep a straight face. Now they were just being shameless, really, weren’t they? But it was such fun. And ah, the cotton pads were buried at the bottom of the box. Stupid place to put it.

“I mean it. You should have seen your face when you thought I was gonna bleed out on the pavement and die.”

“I didn’t think you were going to _die_.”

The bottle of iodine that had proved elusive up to this point had been hiding in between some rolls of bandages and an unopened box of bandaids, apparently.

“You should have told your face that, then.”

Gold snorted and muttered a deep, “Yeah, alright. Had your fun?” and screwed the cap off the bottle of iodine.

“Yup!” she chirped.

“Good. Because this might sting a bit.”

“Do your worst.”

It had been a while since he’d smelled that particular metallic iodine odor, so strong it nearly made his eyes water. Slowly, delicately, Gold applied it to the scratches on her skin, turning it from a pale creamy sort of color to that shocking coppery red shade. All he could hear was the sound of her breathing in that moment, hitching when the sting kicked in. He paused, then, and looked up at her in concern. But she smiled and nodded, urging him to finish up, so he did.

When it was over, she put her hand on his shoulder for balance and slipped off the counter, her heels clicking against the black and white tiled floor. There was a bit of a stumble, and suddenly she was soft against his chest, her nose against his cheek, her breath against his neck, and his hands had grabbed her by the waist before he knew it, and oh dear.

“Sorry,” she laughed breathily, patting his chest with her little hands as she stepped back.

“That’s, uh… That’s quite alright.”

Every last drop of his self control. Every single ounce of effort scraped from the walls of every cell in his body. No less. He was glad the blood had rushed to his face first and foremost, because now was not the time.

“Thanks for patching me up,” she said, her face completely flushed, her smile a little shy.

“Thank you for letting me overreact.”

That blush was nice to see. At least it wasn’t just him.

“I was thinking, it might… might be good to cool off. D’you have any nice parks around here?”

… Oh dear God.

_It wasn’t just him._

…

A lone moth fluttered around one of the lampposts lining the path. Gravely sand crunched underfoot. Oh, and crickets chirped, Gold noted with a smile. The moon was nowhere to be seen, so their walk wasn’t exactly a moonlit one, but that was alright. This was nice enough. This was lovely. Having her on his arm in the darkness, her sweet citrus perfume with a touch of iodine and the smell of freshly mown grass in the summer night air, sharing a comfortable silence together until she squeezed his arm to get his attention.

“Tell me a story,” she asked with smiling eyes.

“A story?”

“Yeah! You haven’t told me very much. Not as much as I’d like, anyway. So tell me something.”

Gold sighed and fixed his gaze to the dark surface of the pond up ahead. He knew she just wanted to have a little morsel of his past, that was all, but he didn’t want to think of any of that tonight, let alone talk about it. He just wanted to think of her.

“I could tell you the story of the old dragon who - ”

“I meant a real one!” she laughed. “Something that happened to you once. I’m sure you’ve got plenty of anecdotes.”

Gold put on the sternest look he could manage with his heart currently the consistency of a duckling’s down and told her, “Perhaps I was getting there. You didn’t let me finish.”

She wrestled down a smile and gave him a little nod.

“Go on.”

She slid her arm even tighter around his, and Gold wished he didn’t need that cane of his. Wished he could just hold her hand at the same time.

“There once was an old dragon who wanted to find the perfect treasure for his son.”

“Oh, come on!” she giggled, slumping into him rather dramatically and bumping her head into his shoulder.

Gold grinned and carried on.

“The boy - or the little dragon, I suppose - loved strange and dark things, so the old dragon decided to head into this mysterious cave he saw the other little dark dragons head into sometimes. But when he walked in there -”

“Flew.”

“Pardon?”

“Flew. Sounds better. Have you ever seen a dragon walk? They look ridiculous.”

“No. No, I can honestly say I’ve never seen a dragon walk, and frankly, I’m surprised you have.”

“You know what I mean!” she giggled, giving his arm another firm squeeze.

“Fine. He flew. Where was I?”

“The dragon flew into the cave.”

“The dragon flew into the cave and was startled to see a princess inside.”

He paused and glanced at her face to gauge her reaction, and it wasn’t approving, exactly. She’d crinkled her nose and was shaking her head decisively.

“I’m not a princess.”

“That’s nice, but the story isn’t about you. I don’t know where you got that idea.”

While she giggled, Gold thought of an alternative.

“He flew into the cave and saw a dragon hunter.”

“No!” she cried out, tugging at his arm. “Think of the implications! Hunters kill the things they hunt!”

“Alright. He walked - ”

“Flew.”

“He fl- Darling, tell me, do you shout commentary at your books while you’re reading them, too?”

She was giggling non-stop now, and there was no chance of him keeping a straight face anymore. So he grinned. Constantly. He was pretty sure his face was going to be sore tomorrow, and it didn’t bother him one bit.

“Sorry. Continue.”

“The dragon _flew_ into the cave and was startled to see a famed cryptozoologist -”

“Ooh. I like that one.”

Gold threw his head back in silent laughter, clenching his eyes shut, shaking his head.

“- by the name of Chime,” he pressed on, a little firmer now.

“ _Chime?_ That doesn’t make sense, cause you spell Belle with an e at the end, and that’s not what it means!”

“Yes, I could have gone with a synonym for beautiful, but I thought this was a bit more creative. And the story’s not about you, remember?”

“Right. Course. Sure.”

“Anyway, the cryptozoologist decided to help the old dragon find the perfect treasure for his son. The dragon took quite a liking to the cryptozoologist, right away.”

Belle looked up at him, eyes twinkling in the faint orange light of the lamppost they passed.

“Right away?”

“Instantly.”

He took a moment to smile down at her and take her in, then. Pleased with him. Pleased that he’d fallen for her so fast. Beautiful.

“What happened then?”

“Well, the dragon kept coming back to the cave, and each time the cryptozoologist was a great help, but they didn’t have much to go on. Nothing they tried was any good. Now, along the way, the dragon thought that perhaps, the cryptozoologist had become a little bit fond of him, too.”

When he looked over, he found her staring up at him with her brow creased in thought.

“If he knew, why didn’t he just ask her out?”

“Because he was a dragon. Not many people would like to cozy up to one of those. He thought it might just have been wishful thinking.”

“Well, that was bloody silly of him, cause she was a cryptozoologist. By definition, she’s interested in magnificent, mysterious creatures. It was a sure thing.”

He pulled her a little closer, smiled when she lay her head on his shoulder again. It was unreal, the things she made him feel. The things she made him think. Was this who he really was, or was this who she made him?

“Maybe this dragon’s a bit of a coward,” he murmured.

“Crikey. Good thing the cryptozoologist kissed him, then.”

“How could you possibly know if that happens? I’ve never told you this story before.”

“Oh my God!” she laughed, batting weakly at his chest. “You’re really committed to this, aren’t you?”

“I am indeed. So the cryptozoologist kissed the dragon -”

“Ha! Called it!”

“Lucky guess.”

“What happened next?”

“Well, then they teamed up to stage these fake dragon slayings, scamming terrified villagers all across the realm.”

The confusion on her face was a treat that didn’t last nearly long enough, but still, long seconds passed until finally, with a theatrical gasp and wide eyes, she caught on.

“That’s the plot for Dragonheart, you muppet!”

Gold laughed at her mock indignation and wrapped his arm around her waist to pull her into his side. There. Closer now. Warmer. When she giggled, it made her body shake, and he loved feeling her move against him like that. Loved knowing she was happy, if only in that moment, to be there with him.

Somehow, without deciding to, they made their way out of the park and towards his shop, and he felt… Not nervous. Not really. Just… something. It felt a bit like the night before a class trip; fluttery feeling in his stomach, heart beating that little bit faster, smiling at nothing and everything, lightyears away from sleep.

His fingers were a little shaky when he unlocked the door to the pawn shop. He let her in first, closed the door and reached for the light switch, but Belle had snatched his hand before he could get there.

In the darkness, he only caught a brief glimpse of the incredible blue of her eyes before she tugged him close and flush against her, threw her arms around his neck and moved in. What she lacked in horizontal speed in those heels she made up for in reach; she’d reached his lips sooner than he thought, and with a force that took him off guard. He stumbled back into his mahogany coat stand with a little muffled sound that she swallowed completely.

She’d kissed him hard, but she was still _so_ soft. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he heard his cane clatter to the wooden floor. He didn’t care. He needed her closer. He nearly despaired when she tore her lips away from his, not knowing that her plan was to kiss him just as hard but at a different angle until she was on him again, hot and insistent, and pulling at the lapels of his vest to push closer.

Not close enough. With his hands under her jacket and splayed out against the soft fabric of her little black dress, he pulled her against him. Still not close enough. Their lips were wet now, they gasped for air whenever they needed to, their noses bumped and slid together, he could smell her shampoo, and still they weren’t close enough. They were moving, miraculously not knocking anything over in the slow process, and it wasn’t until his back bumped into his counter and he felt the softness of her breasts against his chest that he truly believed that perhaps, they could get close enough now.

Their lips had slipped apart with the impact, but only for a moment. One hand still on her back, he pushed the other into her soft, soft hair and resumed their kiss. Her hands were on his face, on his neck, in his hair making an absolute bird’s nest of it, just _everywhere_.

Suddenly, she broke away, her body no longer keeping him pinned to the glass counter, but still close. He looked at her in absolute wonder. At those lips, now wet and red. Her fiery eyes behind fluttering lashes, fixed on his own mouth. He wondered what she was thinking. Wanted to pull her close again, but he didn’t want to shock her out of the moment, whatever it was.

She blinked. And then she moved closer again. Her fingertips were soft on his cheeks, her next kiss softer too. Lighter, gentler. And suddenly, without warning, he felt the wetness of the very tip of her tongue against his upper lip. He parted his lips for her without thinking, but she was gone again, back to her soft kisses again. So he mimicked her. Followed her lead. Tasted the lip she liked to nibble on, felt his heart melt into a white hot puddle in the very center of his body.

He hadn’t kissed anyone like this in years. It was better than he remembered. Or maybe it was just that it was Belle. Yeah, it was Belle, with her little nips and licks, her smell, her sounds, twirling his hair around her fingers and _tugging_ , barely giving him space to breathe. And that piercing. He’d nearly forgotten. He only felt it slide past his tongue once, but that was enough to decide that _fuck_ , he actually rather liked that. It was suddenly there when their tongues met - just a smooth, round, hard thing. Unexpected and intimate.

That was what made him pull away in the end. It was what made him conscious of the state of him - heart pounding, out of breath, trousers suspiciously tight. There was no overstating how badly he wanted her, to unzip that dress and touch as much of her skin as she would let him, but not here. Not now.

Her face was red again, her chest heaving. Like his.

“You pulled away. The piercing… did it bother you?”

That would be the worst possible way to describe the effect that thing had on him. Gold shook his head and drew his fingers through his hair nervously.

“The, uh… The opposite of that.”

Her eyes sprung open wide, and she laughed a surprised little laugh. More of a gasp, really. Gold grinned and looked down at his feet, knowing where her eyes would be drawn to now. Maybe if he didn’t see her look, he’d spare himself some embarrassment.

Her hand on his arm made him look up. She was smiling at him.

“I _have_ noticed that weird cot in the back, you know,” she said in a deep voice that made things absolutely worse. “But if we… I’d like to stay, if we did that. And I don’t think you can do that right now.”

Gold swallowed and nodded, murmured a soft, “That’s why I stopped,” and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“I know. Let’s go.”

In the car, the air between them was thick and heady with new truths. She knew, now, that he wanted her. And he knew that she wanted him too, miraculously. She’d considered the _cot_ , for fuck’s sake, while he was still too wrapped up in her to even begin to consider the practicalities of the matter. The cot? He wouldn’t even have thought past the floor.

He drove as slowly as he could, looked over at her smiling face as often as he could without risking a collision, dallied as they walked up to her building, wished Neal was the type to ignore his curfew just once in his life. He would have let him off the hook tonight.

On the first step leading up to the front door, Belle turned around, waved at him to come closer, leaned down and kissed him softly goodnight, making the winged creatures in his stomach flutter wildly.

“Thank you. Best date ever.”

“Ever? Are you sure? Don’t get me wrong, I had a wonderful time, but there was blood and disinfectant involved.”

She shook her head decisively and repeated, “Ever.”

He didn’t want to go. He wanted to stand there and smile at her forever. And just when she made a move to turn around and disappear into the building, something occurred to him.

“Belle, listen, I… Neal.”

“Yeah, I know you have to go home. It’s alright.”

“No, I mean… I do, but that wasn’t what I was going to say. Neal, he likes to go camping with his friends this time of year. A few days, at least.”

Belle raised her brow, rounded her lips in a little _oh._

“You’re saying that might be a good time to take you out for a pint, then?”

“Yeah! Sounds good.”

Not quite what he had in mind when he brought it up, but…

“Awesome. Cause there’s this bar I like.”

“Yeah?”

“Quite near my flat,” she added, nodding towards the end of the street. “Walking distance, actually. Kinda convenient.”

She bit her lip, raised her brow, and giggled when she saw it finally sink into his daft, enamored brain, making him grin like a complete idiot.

“Sounds perfect. Good night.”

“Night night. It’s alright if I come hang out in the shop next week too, right?”

She still wanted lunches with him.

“I’d love you to.”

And she wanted nights with him, too.

He wondered which of those was more unbelievable, and whether the whole thing might have been a very realistic dream. If he might wake up soon with Neal still moping because he’d caught him snogging his girlfriend, and no sign of that beautiful girl with the blue in her hair in that shop, or anywhere else. It was a ridiculous thought. It wasn’t a dream. He wasn’t insane.

But still the sight of the iodine stains on his fingers was a bright copper comfort, making him smile.


	8. Nose Over Tail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new friend, a bar date, a sleepover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for being so lovely and patient. I'm running on very little sleep and extra extra extra proofreading will occur tomorrow.

“Two with milk and sugar, right?”

“No, just one!”

“Right! The other just milk. Gotcha!”

As it turned out, Belle did know Ruby when she saw her. Mostly because she had a name tag, really. The other hint, the one about the red in her hair, had slipped her mind entirely until she spotted that name card and accidentally read it out loud in surprise. It was a little awkward at first, but then they started talking while waiting for the next batch of coffee to brew. Ruby was chatty and sweet, and especially energetic for someone who’d gotten up as early as she had. (“I saw you get coffee earlier from my grandma. I was watching from the kitchen. Need a refill already? Did you get up at four, too?”) She took a liking to the girl with the red in her hair and the huge grin instantly.

Belle hadn’t gotten up at four like Ruby had. She’d strolled over to Granny’s in the early afternoon sunshine and hopped in for coffee while her poor reluctant pawnbroker was stuck bartering with a very talkative customer. Belle knew that by the time the man had bought that weird painting with the melancholy schnauzer and finally left, a caffeine boost might help to smooth away the deep lines in his forehead she’d left him with.

So that was why she was here, being complimented on her Alkaline Trio shirt, and her hair, and her eyeliner, and the rest of her outfit, and then ever so slightly grilled on her personal life, it felt like. But Belle didn’t mind at all. Ruby seemed to have a million tiny questions, and it was actually sort of nice that she was interested. Not that there was a lack of interest in her life these days, but still, it was different, and it was nice.

“So, what do you do?” asked Ruby, leaning on the counter with folded arms. “You look like an artist. Bet you do something really cool for a living.”

“Oh, no!” she replied, shaking her head with a grin. “Nothing cool, sadly. I just review books for the paper.”

Ruby’s mouth fell open.

“Which paper? _Our_ paper?”

“Yeah. It’s really nothing, but -”

“You do the new book reviews?” And before Belle could reply, Ruby gasped, “My grandma loves those!”

“Really?”

“Yeah! She’s gonna be so stoked to find out you’re a customer!”

“Aw, that’s… That’s really nice to hear.”

“She likes the ones where you just rip a book apart best. She’s kinda vicious like that, she loves that stuff. Oh man, I wish I had a copy here. You could have signed it for her!”

Belle stifled a giggle. Last time she did that, things got a little out of hand. In a really good way.

“So you’re a full-time writer?”

“I wish!”

“Got a part time job, huh? I get that. You gotta do what you gotta do, right?”

“No, I…”

Belle let her voice trail off, uncertain of her words all of the sudden. But Ruby looked so interested with both perfectly groomed eyebrows raised, waiting patiently for a reply, and she _did_ ask. It wouldn’t be whining, really, would it?

“I really should. Actually, I… I might have to ask for my old job back. I quit a little hastily. Things didn’t work out the way I thought they would.”

It felt strange to get the words out. To hear them. It was a little unpleasant at first, but then a calm came over her when she realized that it could be worse. Much worse. Had she been in a bad mood the day she quit, she could just as easily have burned her bridges there, and then she would have had to find something else. She knew how to stand there, smile at customers and sell them things they didn’t know they wanted. She could do that for a bit longer, until Sidney finally came through.

There was just one thing - one thing that made the pill taste bitter after all. It felt like crawling back in defeat, back to where she came from after a grandiose and reckless charge. Back to where he’d found her, where he told her she could be doing something much better that. She could taste it on her tongue when he told her, then. He’d made her feel ten feet tall and invincible. And now the thought of telling him that she was probably going to have to go back, well, it made her feel a little sick to her stomach. But she felt even worse for thinking it mattered. She wished she didn’t care. She knew she didn’t _have_ to care, but…

“That sucks,” said Ruby, smiling sympathetically. “Grandma says you’re really talented, and she’s kinda cheap when it comes to compliments, so you know it’s legit.”

“Thank you. That means a lot.”

“I could maybe get you a few shifts here, but you’re probably overqualified, right?”

“I’m really, really not,” she laughed darkly, shaking her head. Then with a little start, she hurriedly added, “Not that I think you can be overqualified for a job like this! I’m so unorganized and clumsy, I swear, if you let me loose in here I’d chip everything!”

“It’s alright!” said Ruby with a kind smile. “I know what you mean. I’m not offended.”

“Thank you for offering. It’s just… Better the devil you know, right?”

“Yeah, I hear you.”

Ruby smiled at her warmly for a few seconds, and then with wide eyes and a little start not unlike her own just a moment ago, she pushed herself away from the counter and towards the coffee machine that had fallen silent at some point during their conversation.

“Well, here’s your order,” Ruby sighed as she put the two cups in front of her. “Guess you gotta get going, huh? Someone’s probably waiting for their coffee.”

Belle nodded. The mere thought of him waiting for her was enough to take her mind off that dark cloud in the distance and conjure up a smile.

“Boyfriend?” asked Ruby with a quirked eyebrow.

And just like that, Belle felt like she was fourteen again. She felt a huge grin take over her face, and a pleasant heat travel up her neck to her cheeks. Ruby laughed, which made it worse.

“Sorry, terrible at minding my own business. I’m kinda nosy.”

“We haven’t actually used that word yet,” said Belle with a shrug.

“Ooh, I see! Still pretty new, huh?”

“New-ish. But getting there, I think. I hope.”

“Well, I’d ask you to tell me all about him, but your coffee’s getting cold.”

“True!”

Not true. It really, really wasn’t. That coffee was a negligence lawsuit waiting to happen. You could probably destroy a cursed ring by dropping it right in. But she appreciated the excuse to get out of there - not because she didn’t enjoy chatting with Ruby, because she definitely did, but because the conversation could only have been leading up to a _who_ question she wasn’t sure she was supposed to answer yet.

“Tell your almost-boyfriend I said hi.”

“I will.”

Belle turned to walk away with her blistering hot coffee, but something stopped her. And that something was Ruby, who was still smiling when she turned back. She’d practically offered her a job on the spot, and they seemed to have similar taste in music. If she could kiss a man on a whim and have that work out perfectly, she could try and make friends with someone she’d just met, right?

“Hey, do you maybe wanna hang out some time? Maybe go see a show or something? I could use a concert buddy.”

“Oh wow, I’d love that!”

“Awesome!”

They exchanged numbers by the register. She scribbled her number on a little notepad, put Ruby’s in her pocket, and left the diner with a spring in her step and a smile on her face that grew bigger the closer she got to the pawnshop.

Belle had been spending a lot of time there recently. She had even started bringing her books and her notebooks with her to get a little work done while he was busy pretending he didn’t secretly love bartering with the customers who were brave enough to try. She always ended up just watching him, admiring the ease with which he palmed off various items of inscrutable purpose and value while somehow maintaining an air of indifference. More often than not, the customers left looking a little dazed.

Most of all, she liked to watch him melt back into the man he was with her when they were left on their own again. His entire posture changed; harsh angles to soft curves. All in all, Belle didn’t really get _that_ much work done, really, and she ended up redoing most of it at home. Only when he was doing the books, or checking one of his huge reference books could she bring herself to actually work. If she wasn’t busy staring, and if they weren’t talking (or kissing), then she would scribble away in her notebook or read something terrible or terrific.

Looking into the shop, Belle saw him standing behind the counter, fiddling with the register and looking very serious with the early afternoon sun behind her casting a beautiful golden light on his face. She smiled to herself, eager to see his expression change when she walked in. He had a way of looking at her like she was the first glittery glimpse of an ocean sunset after a daylong drive to the coast, and it made her feel like she was drowning in light. She could never get enough of it.

The bell chimed as she pushed open the door, jolting him out of his concentration.

“Belle! Hey!”

“Hey!”

And there it was, that look. Something akin to wonder, first. Then a dazzling boyish grin that crinkled the skin next to his eyes and made them twinkle in the light. Was she the only one who got to see that grin these days, she wondered?

“Did he buy the painting?” she asked as she let the door fall shut behind her, making the little bell ring yet again.

“Yeah, eventually,” he sighed with an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that.”

“Oh God! Don’t apologize for having customers! It’s ridiculous enough that you let me hang out here all the time.”

He frowned and folded his arms on the counter, resting the weight of his upper body on the thick glass.

“Wanting you around is not ridiculous.”

Yeah, it was silly to think she was going to get back to her book now, abandoned in the back room next to their empty tea mugs. Not if he was going to tell her things like that. Smiling, Belle walked closer, put their respective cups of coffee between them and folded her arms on the counter like he had.

“I met Ruby,” she said.

“Oh? And?”

“We didn’t chat for very long, but I like her. We exchanged numbers, might go see a show together some time.”

“You made a friend while I was being bombarded with unsolicited and mostly erroneous art history facts!”

“Yup. And she says hi.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“She doesn’t know it’s you, specifically.”

He raised it even higher, and Belle giggled.

“She asked me who the second coffee was for,” she clarified. “She asked if it was for someone special, actually.”

“Ooh.”

He looked down at the cups, expectantly. With a slow smile, Belle pushed his a little closer to him. That someone special she was sure Ruby wouldn’t have believed she was fetching coffee for.

A sweet little laugh made his shoulders shake, and then he leaned over the counter to kiss her over their coffee, fingers guiding her face closer. Soft and sweet, but not too long, because Belle had forbidden him to flip the sign to closed just because she was around, and that meant a touch of discretion was in order.

She couldn’t help but sigh softly when they broke the kiss. God, why wasn’t it Friday yet? Or why couldn’t she just get over herself and settle for a rushed romp on that cot in the back room?

“Neal’s just raring to leave,” he said, as if he had read her mind. “He got all of his supplies ready and all. I nearly broke something tripping over his tent in the hallway this morning.”

She grinned.

“We’re still on, then?”

“Of course,” he replied, raising an eyebrow. “If you still want me there, that is.”

Belle screwed up her face and leaned a little closer. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I have a feeling I might stick out like a sore thumb.”

“Good! I wanna show you off!”

“Oh dear God,” he groaned, touching his forehead to his folded arms.

Belle giggled and took the opportunity to touch his lovely hair, combing her fingers through it, petting the back of his head.

“Aw, don’t be such a baby,” she cooed. “It’s not like we’re gonna stay long anyway.”

That made him look up, and for a moment, they exchanged little smirks.

“What do I even wear?”

“This is fine!”

“Really?”

“Well, minus the jacket, cause it gets really hot in there. And the waistcoat. And the tie. And maybe undo a few buttons.”

“So… a shirt,” he concluded, his voice teasing and deep.

“Yes. And trousers. And shoes.”

“I thought as much, but I wanted to make sure it was appropriate.”

Belle snorted.

“There’s nothing very appropriate about the place. I’m not wearing anything I’d mind if someone spilled beer on.”

They knew her there, so she wouldn’t get carded. She didn’t have to apply her eyeliner more sensibly and less enthusiastically, or wear heels. She liked that she was taller in them, but then again, with him she didn’t mind being short so much. They were nearly in the same boat, anyway. Maybe that was why he hadn’t yet made some sort of comment about her height; there was a good chance that he had heard the exact same jokes she had had to endure over the years. It was a nice change from the norm, but she probably wouldn’t mind if he teased her about it just a little. Not him, for some reason. She knew that he would do it in a charming, clever way that would make her feel giddy, and he would leave her ample opportunity to tease him right back.

When it was time to leave (a completely arbitrary hour, usually when Belle started noticing teenagers walking past the shop, which meant that school had let out), Belle gathered her notebook and the loose papers she’d scribbled some ideas on, as well as her book, and began to stuff everything in her bag. She felt his eyes on him as she moved about and rounded up her things. It was always a nice feeling, his undivided attention.

“You have to type those out later, don’t you?” he asked, nodding towards the papers she was sliding into her bag.

“Yeah, but I don’t mind. It’s kind of relaxing.”

“I think I can understand that.”

“And it’s good to have these in case my computer finally croaks.”

“Hard copy. Clever.”

She patted him on the shoulders, stood on her toes and kissed his smiling lips.

“I am!”

…

That Friday night, they walked home under a starry sky. _Her_ home. Arm in arm, they stepped on cracked pavement and talked in ever so slightly tipsy loud voices. The concrete underfoot was still giving off warmth from the sun beating down on it all day while the air itself was nice and cool against her heated face. It was a ten minute walk from the bar to her apartment, and with two pints in her, Belle was pleasantly buzzed. Glancing up at the man on her arm, she saw red cheeks and a dreamy smile, and it made her stomach flutter to see him this happy to be coming home with her. Sure took them long enough.

It was a complete cliché, but it was true; Belle felt weightless in this bubbly mood. As if he was the only thing keeping her from floating up and away, like he was guiding her home even though it was the other way around. She felt excited, a little nervous, but most of all, she felt _good,_ despite the fact that she had woken up to a few unpleasant surprises that morning. It started with another bill in the mail, and then yet another ambiguously worded but at least somewhat apologetic reply from Sidney to her third email in as many weeks wondering if that job might open up soon. The milk had gone off because she forgot to put it back in the fridge the night before, and she was out of name brand cereal, too. The generic stuff wasn’t that gross, but the box was so depressing. Her nest egg was getting smaller and smaller, and she knew she had to get her job back soon, and on second thought, her dry discount cereal tasted like chopped up carpet, and there was just a general sense of impending doom, really.

But all of that had stopped mattering the moment she saw him waiting for her under the purple and orange sunset sky in front of her favorite bar that evening, his hair tousled by the breeze. She liked to sneak up on him, and it was extra rewarding that night, because with his jacket and his waistcoat left at home, Belle could feel his muscles jump as she slid her arms around his waist from behind, giggling against his back. He'd laughed and told her he knew she was going to do that. She'd squeezed him tight and told him he should have been looking in the right direction, then. And that was how they started the evening.

They stayed a little longer in the cozy little basement bar than she thought they would, but it was really nice to just sit there with him for a while. He didn’t seem to mind the loud music nor the sticky floors and strange clientele. He didn’t even seem to mind Jefferson hopping in at one point to buy them a pint and deliver a strangely jovial and mostly empty threat of bodily harm to be made good on should he ever find out that he had hurt her, the latter of which made her roll her eyes and grin at the same time. He smiled and was very kind to Jefferson, but Jefferson was sensible enough to leave them be either way. He'd whirled off, frock coat and all, to a flock of adoring fellow goths congregating in the back corner of the room. He only made himself heard again when he started a rousing singalong to Stand Inside Your Love despite a tenuous grasp of the lyrics. Got the nasal voice just right, though!

They had stolen a little booth to themselves and there was more than enough room, but still she had scooted as close as she could without actually sitting in his lap. Thigh to thigh. After one beer, she’d grabbed his arm, pulled it over her shoulder and nestled herself against his side. Halfway through the second one with her cheeks hot and her fingers itching to touch him, she’d actually crawled into his lap, grabbed his gorgeous face and started thoroughly kissing him. Perhaps too thoroughly. (“Aren’t we getting a wee bit carried away, darling?” “Relax. There’s always worse going on in the bathroom.” “ _Always?_ ”) It was only Jefferson’s theatrical wink as he passed their booth on his way out that convinced Belle that perhaps they were getting a bit too hot and heavy. When she’d detangled from him, she was extraordinarily happy with the displeased little growl he made at the loss of her.

And now, in a cooler breeze and under a darker sky, with her jacket over her shoulders and his arm around her waist, it was beginning to really sink in. In a lull in their conversation, he pushed his nose against her ear and then kissed her temple, and the touch sent shivers all the way from her neck down to the very pit of her stomach where the heat pooled and buzzed and made her blush even more fiercely. In that moment, the reality of the situation struck her and made her suddenly nervous. Just a touch. Just enough to make her babble, and she knew it was obvious, too.

“It’s really small,” she said as they turned the corner into her street. “My flat. It’s more of a studio, actually. It’s just one room. I mean, one room and a bathroom, of course. But still…”

With his hand on her hip, he squeezed and told her, “That’s alright.”

“I don’t know why I felt the need to warn you,” she laughed nervously, glancing up to gauge his reaction to her little stumble. He was still smiling. How was he so calm now when she had to put him at ease about making out in a secluded corner of a crowded bar not that long ago?

“Neither do I,” he said. “For all you know, I live in a treehouse.”

Yeah right. Maybe one that spanned half the bloody forest and had plumbing and cable and everything.

It all came to a head when she closed the door behind them and suddenly realized that he was here. That he would stay here. That she would have him naked in her bed soon, and that he _wanted_ to be.

He took her jacket from her shoulders and hung it safely away, then leaned his cane against the door.

“See? Tiny, isn’t it? Bathroom’s over there. D’you want another beer? I probably have some beer. Nothing good though, but it does the trick.”

She could hear herself and was horrified to realize that she sounded ridiculous, but she couldn’t help it. The anticipation and the tension had made her feel like a vibrating string, plucked once and still going.

But then, without warning, his chest was against her back and his arms around her waist. Belle melted into him with a soft sigh. Tried to sigh out the jitters. There was music coming from an apartment below hers. It was slow and melodic, and it helped. His chin was on her shoulder, now, and they swayed ever so slightly. She put her hands on his arms and rubbed them. He’d folded up his sleeves after the first pint. She’d watched him like a starving stray cat eying a blissfully unaware goldfish as he did it.

“Do you want another beer?” he asked.

“No.”

Another kiss to her temple, just like before.

“Then I don’t either.”

She caught their reflections in the mirror by the door. He was so handsome dressed in all black, his hair falling forward, his eyes closed. He fit around her so perfectly. At least, it _felt_ perfect, but it looked so strange in the mirror. Even without his waistcoat and his suit jacket and his fancy tie, it was strange to see herself there in his arms. Plaid skirt, black top, a cop-out of a dye job that needed a touch up at the roots, actually. Did he not see the contrast? Someone else might make more sense in her place. An heiress with a fur stole and pearls around her neck. Or a sophisticated jet-setting CEO dressed in something bright red and dramatic.

But it was her. He was kissing _her_ shoulder, smelling her hair, holding her close. Belle swallowed a little chuckle, realizing too late that with his arms around her like that, he could feel her laugh. He could feel everything. And sure enough, he made a low sound deep in his throat - a request for her to explain.

“Nothing,” she said, reaching up to run her fingers through his hair for a moment. “Just looking at us.”

His gorgeous eyes found the mirror, and when they locked onto hers, it was like a punch to the stomach. In the best possible way.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured.

“Why are you sweet talking me? Technically you’re already in my bedroom. There’s really no need.”

His arms tightened around her waist and he laughed, the deep sound so close to her ear it made her tingle all over. His fingers found the hem of her top and slipped underneath. His hands were often cool, but tonight they were warm. Hot, even. Maybe it was the alcohol warming his body. Belle felt a lot warmer too. She’d always liked the chill of his fingers against her neck when they kissed, and the coolness of his palm on her cheek, but this was perfect in the moment.

They just stood there swaying ever so slightly for a few minutes, and she felt herself melting into his chest a little more with every minute that passed. Until suddenly, his hand went right up her top and splayed flat against her stomach, making her shiver despite the warmth of his skin.

“Ooh, you’re moving along, then!” she giggled.

He stilled his hand immediately. “Too fast?”

“No, no,” she sighed, leaning back even more and resting her head against his shoulder. “Feels nice. Just thought you’d be a little more shy, that’s all.”

He smiled against her neck, then kissed it.

“Because I had some minor and easily-resolved reservations about full-on snogging you in a packed pub? Which I ended up doing anyway, mind you.”

His other hand had crept down a little lower than her hip.

“No. Well, yes. A bit. But mostly because you’re… You’re careful. Patient. And steady. You’re a careful, thoughtful, steady man.”

“Maybe not, then.”

“Maybe not,” she agreed. “Still, I had to kiss you first.”

“I was about to. You only beat me to it by a split second.”

“That is _so_ not true!” she laughed in a deep voice and felt him trying to hold back his own laughter, his abdominal muscles tensing against her back.

“You don’t know that. And anyway, I’m not sure why you expect me to be anything but eager after what you’ve been getting up to.”

“What are you talking about?” she asked, despite having _some_ idea. She frowned at him in the mirror, and he put his chin on her shoulder again.

“The way you kissed me that night after dinner. Damn near broke my back against the counter. Nearly broke my lovely coat stand, too.”

She quirked an eyebrow and shrugged, earning her a nip at the junction of her shoulder and her neck.

“I didn't know the piercing’d have that… _big_ of an effect.”

He groaned, dropping his head to her shoulder. Belle giggled and reached up to pat his hair.

“That was terrible,” he said in between kisses to her neck.

God, she wanted to turn around and kiss him like that too, but his hand had crept up a little higher, and the other one a little lower, and she didn’t know if she had the strength to make him stop. It felt so good.

“I know. I’m not sorry.”

“And then there was all that leaning over the counter to get your notebook instead of going around. _Wiggling_.”

“What? I don’t remember any wiggling!”

“I do. With that skirt. This very skirt.”

“That was ages ago! Good memory on you. Apart from the wiggling. That never happened.”

“Hm. Might have just been a dream, then.”

She rolled her eyes and was about to call him the absolute corniest man in the world when suddenly, as she shifted in his embrace, she realized she could feel him harden against her. In the mirror, he grinned embarrassedly and avoided her gaze. How cute.

“Oh hello again,” she sang, purposely pushing back.

He twisted her around in his arms, then pulled her just as close as before, grinning against her cheek. Belle sighed happily and threw her arms around his neck, pushing her face into his chest. God, he smelled so good. What even was that scent? Was it cologne? Was it him? Was she just losing it? Was it just her stupid mushy adoring brain swamped with chemicals and rendered completely hopeless? Pressed close like this, all the heat from every part of her sank down lower and made her squirm a little. Made her want to get closer. If he didn’t touch her properly soon, she’d…

Oh.

His hand was on her bare thigh now, playing with the hem of her skirt between their bodies. Belle felt her pulse quicken. He stopped kissing her collarbone to look up at her with the most intoxicating look and softly ask her, “Is that alright?”

Belle could barely manage more than a nod, but she made herself reply, “Yes,” anyway. She knew he needed an actual answer. He may have been eager, but this was still the man who assumed he couldn’t kiss her when she was absolutely desperate for it. A nod wouldn’t be enough for this one.

But with that confirmation, he didn’t just slide his hand up her skirt. He pushed up the fabric as he went until his fingers moved over the front of her panties and sent a shock right through her. She still had her arms around his neck but she had to tighten her hold on him now that her knees were threatening to give out.

One touch. Just one touch, and she felt entirely liquid inside.

His lips caught hers in a lingering kiss while his fingers lightly scratched and touched the fabric, and she knew that she really couldn’t keep this up. For his sake; she couldn’t keep hanging from his neck, what with his leg. But his tongue passed over her bottom lip now, and she supposed she could stay there with his one arm around her waist and his hand between her thighs a little longer.

Beer and mints, that was what she tasted.

When they broke apart for air, she asked him, “You’re sure you don’t mind the piercing, then? It’ll take a moment, but I can switch it to a stud that’s a little more flat, if you like.”

God, her voice sounded so different now. Deeper. Breathier. She liked it.

“I’ve told you before. I definitely don’t mind, love.”

“Good!”

With a mischievous grin, Belle licked his cheek and giggled when he yelped and tightened his hold on her in retaliation. Still giggling, she tried to wipe the saliva off with her sleeve but with a decisive, “Right! That does it!” she was being lifted up and into the air, and _she_ was the one yelping.

“Your leg!” she cried, wrapping hers around his waist as he began to move them towards the bed.

“You just worry about yourself now, feather.”

“You can't threaten me and call me feather in one breath!”

“Really? That’s odd. I believe I just did.”

They came to a wobbly, giggly standstill at the foot of her bed, and the devious look he gave her told her exactly what he had in mind.

“I wouldn’t throw me on there if I were you! That bed is on its last legs. I might fall straight through.”

“What if I throw you really gently?”

“You weren’t going to?” she gasped, playfully tugging at a lock of his hair.

He grinned. “Extra gently.”

“Extra extra gently. And you're fixing it if it breaks.”

“Fine. I’ll buy you a new one.”

“No! You’re fixing it. I wanna watch you fix it.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, and the flash of his smirk was too quick a warning for her to brace herself, so she squealed when she went flying through the air. Her stomach flipped. She hit the mattress with her mouth open in a silent gasp and bounced once or twice. She’d caught herself on her elbows and her heart was pounding now. She stopped breathing, waiting and listening for any ominous creaky sounds, but it seemed the bed was going to hold up after all. It gave a warning squeak and creaked as her weight settled, but there was no big _crack, boom_.

“You’re lucky it didn’t break!”

He shrugged coyly and slipped out of his shoes. “The night is young.”

“You’re so corny tonight,” she laughed.

“You started it.”

He grinned and crawled onto the bed, following her as she backed up to make space. The look in his eyes was an unchecked version of the one she spotted that night in the darkness of his shop when her self-control fell short and sent her flying into his arms. Now he was hovering over her, kissing her face, nuzzling her neck, grazing his teeth against her skin, drawing out gasp after gasp after gasp. The way he was making her feel, it was like she hadn’t stopped falling at all.

Until a tug on her choker made her snap her head up and out of her blissful state to glare at him. Deepening her voice to a warning tone, she told him, “That’s not what that’s for.”

“Your collar’s in the way,” he explained, frowning at it as if that would make it come off any faster.

“Then take it off! There’s a buckle back there; it’s not rocket science. And it’s not a collar either.”

His serious, frustrated look was making her giggle, and his fingers on her neck were ticklish, and he was no longer the smooth, seductive predator perched over his prey, but a bumbling baby animal trying to solve a puzzle for a treat. Just when she was about to put her puppy out of his misery and take it off herself, his ticklish fingers had found the little buckle right at the back.

“Aha!”

“Amazing! Only took you about ten minutes.”

“That wasn’t even a minute,” he growled, the corner of his mouth twitching with a hidden smirk.

She watched him with a fond smile as he deftly unbuckled the choker and then pulled it away from her neck with a gentleness that warmed her even more. He held it up for a moment, peering at it.

“If the band was twice the width, I’d say it was a repurposed dog collar.”

“It’s not!”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re very canine in some ways?” he asked her with a cheeky smile as he tossed the choker onto the end table next to her bed.

“Excuse me?”

“Only in the very best of ways,” he assured her, stroking her hair. “Affectionate. Always in good cheer.”

“Alright. I’ll allow that.”

“But then again, you're graceful and lithe, like a cat.”

“I’ll allow that too,” she replied, arching her back and pushing herself up against him for illustration.

“Well, I say graceful; I mean sneaky,” he added in a deep mutter, running a finger down her neck, following the neckline of her top. “I've thought about putting a little bell on you a few times, you know.”

Belle raised a single eyebrow and held his stare.

“Are you telling me you’re gonna need a bell to hear me coming?”

He collapsed in laughter, landing on top of her with all of his weight. The sound and the feel of his laughter gave her goosebumps and filled her with mirth. Giggling softly, she slid her fingers into his hair and kissed the top of his head.

“You started it and you finished it,” he murmured into her hair.

He took some of his weight off her by sliding to the left, but not all of it. She was glad. She’d been wanting him close for so long that she honestly felt that if she got squashed a little, it would be a reasonable price to pay. He kept one leg over hers, making it a little difficult for her to toe off her converse, but she managed in the end. Two soft thuds told her so.

“Can I take this off?” he asked, touching the hem of her top.

“I don’t know,” she teased with a great big grin. “ _Can_ you? Do you need directions, like with the choker?”

He nipped at her bottom lip - revenge for her pedantry - and then his hands, a little cooler now, pushed up her top. Belle lifted herself just a bit, raised her arms and let him pull it off.

And when she opened her eyes again and moved the hair from her face so she could see, she found him frozen over her. Eyes on her chest, her belly, her neck, his lips parted. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I just… You’re…”

Frozen, or spellbound. Like what had hit her the moment she unlocked the front door and let him in knowing he wouldn’t be leaving that night had only hit him now.

It was very sweet. It was also an opportunity.

Belle reached up, pulled him down on top of her, rolled them over and oh yes, this was good. She had him, now. Her body on top of his, him hard under her thigh, his lips still parted in silent reverence for her to kiss until his muscles seemed to thaw and his arms came up to hold her. They kissed and moved against each other, slow and shamelessly indulgent. It was only their need for air that broke them apart, and when it did, Belle lifted herself up to sit back and straddle him. Leaned over him. Reached down to pull his hair out of his flushed face, let her fingers linger and trace his lips, his jaw, every beautiful angle of his face. He was so gorgeous, and he had no idea. She’d thought he did before, but she knew now that he didn’t. She wasn’t sure if it was well-practiced bluff or just a genuine effortlessness to be admired and envied, but it didn’t matter. She wanted to make him feel as beautiful as he was.

She also just wanted to look at him, here in her bed for her. So playful and confident before her top came off, and now he was _so_ still. Wide-eyed. Wondering. She loved that black shirt on him but it had to come off. Her hands went to pull it out of his waist band, and he helped with that, but then when that was done and she touched a button on his shirt, worry suddenly creased his brow. So she kissed his lips and slowly went button by button, kiss after kiss after kiss, until she could push the fabric away from his chest and wondered what he’d been so worried about. Still gorgeous. Every bit of him.

She scooted back a little and grinned when she felt him hard underneath her bum and drew out a little hiss of pleasure from him. She didn’t do it on purpose; it was a practical matter, really. Honestly. She had to scoot back because she had to get that shirt off him. She pulled at the fabric to guide him up, and he rose to meet her in a kiss that almost distracted her from her mission.

But he’d underestimated her, because she could keep kissing him as she pushed the shirt off his shoulders. To get his arms out of it she had to peek first, but then finally he was shirtless, and Belle could take a good look at him. Just to be fair, though, she decided to take off her bra despite a faint twinge of insecurity. But insecurity was just another one of fear’s disguises, and fear might have been the thing Belle loathed most in life. So off it went. She tossed it in the corner of the room and heard it hit the wall and slide down.

“God, Belle,” he growled, reaching up to touch her. “Beautiful.”

His hands were all over her, cool on her warm skin, making her breathe more shallow and writhe on top of him. He rose up to kiss her breasts, nipping, licking, driving her absolutely mad. With her head thrown back, Belle almost didn’t notice that he was trying to reverse their positions.

Almost.

She pushed him back down by the shoulders, shaking her head with a little smile.

“I like it here. I think I’ll stay. That alright with you?”

His dark eyes were trained on hers, and his little nod told her to carry on with her plan. Not that she had one. She was just improvising. She’d never had someone she wanted this much so eager for her. She watched his chest rise and fall as she unbuckled his belt and undid his trousers, pushing them down and out of her way. Just to hold him in her hand and watch him watch her as she touched him was perfect. She was burning up, but if that was all she would get tonight for some reason - maybe because of an infelicitously timed fire alarm - it would still be more than enough. All the doubts, all the insecurities, all the worries nowhere to be found. She almost laughed at the Belle she was that morning, so close to despair.

“Condoms are over there,” she said, nodding towards the little end table next to the bed as she wriggled out of her skirt and panties.

Meek and obedient in the palm of her hand, he did try to reach, to his credit. But because he wouldn’t take his eyes off her, he knocked an empty plastic bottle of water off the end table and to the floor. Belle smiled, bit her lip, and crawled up to do it herself. Hovering over him now, his hands moved all over her body. She nearly lost her balance when his thumbs brushed over her nipples.

There was no playfulness anymore. Just urgency and need. And when she sank down on him - slowly, eyes closed, gasping when he began to move his hands all over her thighs - she tried to feel his heartbeat under her palm first. Then she let her hands travel down his chest and back up again, feeling the muscles under the skin, drawing goosebumps and shivers and little sounds that made her want to swoop down and swallow them up with her lips. But he was such an intoxicating sight. The view from up there was just right.

“Belle.”

There couldn’t have been a more beautiful sound in the world than his raspy voice growling her name in pleasure. This was perfect. She wouldn’t come like this, probably - she never had before in that position - but it didn’t matter when she had him all undone underneath her, looking up at her with that look of his that melted her bones to liquid heat. He reached for her face, held it in his big hands, guided her down, then slid his arms around her and oh - that might work, she thought, letting him pull her flush against his chest.

With her elbows either side of his head, her hair falling to shield them from the dim light of her bedside lamp, her breasts pressed against his skin and his hands traveling over every bit of her he could reach, they fucked and kissed until they came. She first, an an incoherent quivering mess mouthing obscenities against his wet neck, dead weight on his chest right after. Then him, after he growled her name in her ear one last time and held her so tight it was almost uncomfortable.

“ _Fuck._ ”

“Yeah,” he breathed, loosening his deathly tight grip on her just enough to let her breathe, but still keeping her as close as she wanted to be. “I know.”

Out of breath, Belle couldn’t even manage to laugh at her complete lack of surprise. Somehow she’d forgotten to doubt that they would be good together like this, that her body was in good hands with him. She had taken it for granted utterly and completely.

Good thing actually, she decided as he gently guided her head up for a soft kiss. She’d been worrying about damn near everything else for too long now.

But not tonight. Not with him. Not tonight.


	9. Heart and Bones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A night, a day and a night together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is getting a bit more serious than I'd anticipated. Apologies.
> 
> And thank you for the kind comments and kudos, as usual. :)

It had been far too long since he’d been in a situation even remotely like this, and Gold had no idea what to do with himself. Belle had left him on her bed with nothing more than a kiss, a smile, and a soft, “I’ll be right back.” And now, out of breath and struggling to think, he wasn’t sure what to do about the clothing situation. Get dressed again? Get under the sheets? He wasn’t just going to lie there on her pristine white bedding like he had no healthy sense of contempt for his own aging body, that much was certain. What if she wanted to go out again? Or worse; what if she wanted him to leave?

He propped himself up on his elbows and scanned the room for his missing clothes. God, he wished she’d let him hold her a little longer. Everything made complete sense with her on his chest, listening to her little breaths as their hearts slowed. Now? Now he was just naked in an unfamiliar room. Waiting, suspended in doubt.

She hadn’t been kidding when she told him her place was rather on the small side, but he’d seen worse rooms in his time - lived in them, even. It was clean and cozy, and what clutter there was was charming and not overwhelming. Her bed was pushed up against the wall of the smallest arm of the L-shaped room, secluded in its own little place. Almost an actual bedroom. The floor length curtain to the right hid a large window or a glass sliding door, he assumed. The curtain had been closed when she led him into the room, but curtains very rarely hid anything else, in his experience.

To the left of the bed, there was a wall with two mismatched bookcases pushed up against it. One was short and broad, made of a very cheap looking yellowish wood. The other one looked much older and much sturdier - rosewood, perhaps - and was tall and thin. Both were practically heaving, not a single open spot to be seen. There were books stacked on top, books stacked on the floor, books in a cardboard box next to the bedside table and who knew where else. In that closet over there, probably.

He’d watched her disappear behind the corner and heard her bathroom door open and shut just a moment ago. Now all he could do was listen to distant drunken revelers somewhere outside and the running water in her bathroom, left to his own devices with no idea what the protocol was in this situation if it wasn’t holding her until she fell asleep in his arms. His limbs were heavy with a deep contentment, but he forced them to move anyway. He found his boxers at the foot of the bed and put those back on. Then he decided he might as well be wearing his trousers too, and he scooted down to the foot of the bed, knowing they were somewhere on the floor there.

She came out of the bathroom as he was buttoning up his trousers. He heard her light footsteps on the linoleum, rounding the corner until she came into view and then to a sudden halt. She stood there as if frozen in time. No longer naked, she now wore a large black t-shirt with what he assumed was a band logo on the front, and a pair of unbearably adorable blue and white polka dot pajama pants. And in that split second, he was subjected to a heartbreaking look; her beautiful eyes no longer lined with black were wide and uncertain.

“Hey,” he tried, hoping to jolt her out of whatever it was that had her standing there so stiffly.

It worked.

“Are you leaving? Is it Neal? Is everything alright?”

“No, it’s not that,” he assured her, smiling when he realized the exact nature of her concern. “I wasn’t leaving. I just didn’t… I don’t know what you had planned.”

Her brow smoothed and she sighed a relieved, “Oh,” with a sweet little smile. She moved closer and sat down next to him on the bed, bringing all of her warmth with her.

“Well, I kind of assumed you’d be staying,” she said softly, saving him from the doubts that had him anticipating the worst.

“I was hoping you’d want me to.”

She lit up, her grin bright and wonderful. “Awesome!” she chirped, patting his thigh and pushing herself up. “Okay, I can make tea, or I’ve got beer, and I have this really old bottle of wine somewhere but I think it might have gone off, actually…”

Her voice trailed off and she looked into the distance for a moment, slowly backing away from the bed in thought.

“Yeah, no, never mind,” she decided, shaking her head. “No wine, sorry. Just beer or tea. Oh, and I’ve got water, of course.”

“Beer’s fine, love.”

“Cool.”

She disappeared around the corner again, and with that, Gold decided that it was definitely alright to put his shirt back on now that she knew he had no intentions of going home. Not without her, in any case.

“Belle, do you know where my shirt ended up?” he called out. He stifled a groan as best as he could as he leaned down and checked under the bed. What a surprise; there were books under there.

“No, sorry! But I’ve got loads of t-shirts if you need something to sleep in,” she replied from her little kitchen area.

“Won’t those be a bit small on me?”

He heard her laugh quietly under her breath, and for some reason, it charmed him utterly.

“I get them way too big at shows just to sleep in them, so size won’t be a problem. Or do you want me to help you look for your shirt?”

“No, that’s alright. It’ll turn up.”

Probably. It wasn’t as if there was a lot of room in which to lose things here. Shirtless and a little embarrassed about it, he joined her in the other part of her quaint little studio, just in time to see her close the refrigerator door with a swing of her hips. There were two cans of perfectly acceptable beer in her hands, and she put them on the coffee table on her way to her closet. He followed sheepishly and watched her open the squeaky doors, only for three or four black underthings to come falling out immediately. Gold smiled at Belle’s softly muttered curses.

“There you go,” she said, handing him a rather large t-shirt indeed.

“Thanks.”

He pulled it over his head immediately, eager to cover up what he knew was not an impressive sight by any means. What was on there, even? He pulled the fabric of the t-shirt taut and away from his chest so he could look at the design. He doubted he could have made much sense of it even if he hadn’t been peering at it upside down.

“How was the show?” he asked, still squinting at the inscrutable design. No result.

“It was alright. They were great live, but I was all the way in the front and one of the security guys wouldn’t stop staring at me. It was so creepy. I had to move to the back. Couldn’t see a thing.”

A little twinge of something unpleasant grabbed hold of him and wouldn’t let go. Not possessiveness, surely? Protectiveness sounded much better.

“Hey,” came her amused voice, followed by a gentle tap on his nose with a single finger. He looked up and found her smiling. “The shirt didn’t do anything.”

Only then did he realize he was no longer looking, but rather glaring at it. He let go of the fabric and smoothed it down, which was unnecessary to say the least. She smiled at him. Fondly, as if at a confused child, and the useless tension in his chest went away.

“Come.”

Belle tugged at his t-shirt, made him follow her to her couch, where their beer was waiting for them on the table. Her couch - worn and a faded dark green - didn’t look like much, but it was remarkably comfortable. He could see himself sinking down and staying there possibly forever. Or until she kicked him out.

He didn’t realize how thirsty he was until his first sip of beer. Over the rim of the can, he watched her neck as she drank. He wanted to reach out, trace the curves of the muscles underneath the skin. And he could have sworn he had been about to say something, but now it was gone. It was a mite awkward, but not necessarily in a bad way. It was just very strange that he could find nothing sensical to say, because he was positively filled to the brim with little words and big feelings and slippery thoughts he wanted to share with her. How beautiful she was, how wonderful he felt, the things he wanted to do with her still. And questions, too. Like, was he even half-decent in bed, earlier? Did he do alright? Would she come home with him tomorrow and stay the night, or did she want to stay here all weekend? Did she not find it difficult to breathe sometimes, in a room that small with a heart that big?

But he couldn’t hold on to his words long enough to put them in order, and he couldn’t tell if they were silly thoughts or profound musings. It seemed he couldn’t stop smiling, and from the lovely looks of her, she was in a similar state. Luckily, although she looked flushed and a little lost like him, Belle didn’t seem to be having quite as much trouble constructing basic sentences.

“In case you were wondering… I mean, I don’t know if I need to tell you that, uh… that that was pretty awesome. Just then.”

 _Awesome?_ He laughed, feeling his face grow hotter by the second. Belle grinned down at her hands bunching the fabric of her t-shirt, shrugging as if to apologize for her phrasing. But he liked her phrasing. He liked her vocabulary and the way her vowels shaped her lips. And _awesome_ was a good word for what had just transpired - at least for him.

“Actually, I wanted to ask if it was alright for you, but that sounded so awkward in my head.”

Her eyes widened in surprise, and her lips began to curl into a grin that made him feel as if he’d just said something unbelievably silly.

“Really?”

“Bit pathetic to ask?”

“No, no,” she said, her sharply amused grin softening somewhat. “It’s cute, actually. I just thought it was obvious that it was more than alright, that’s all.”

She put her hand on his knee and squeezed. He touched the back of her hand, rubbed the softness of it with his thumb.

“What was it you said? Awesome?”

She giggled and gave a small nod. “Yeah.”

“I agree.”

She kissed his shoulder and then put her chin there for a moment. “Do you need to call Neal and check up on him?” she murmured, her voice perfectly close to his ear.

“Not unless I want to ruin his entire weekend. His parting words this afternoon.”

She laughed - a warm and quiet laugh - and pulled away to reunite herself with her beer, settling cross-legged on the couch so she could face him, with one arm on the backrest to prop up her head.

“But he texted earlier,” he continued. “Everything’s fine.”

“When’s he coming back?”

“Sunday afternoon, probably. Sunday at any rate.”

“I was kind of surprised when you said he was going camping. Is camping very goth?”

“You’re asking me?” he asked with a raised eyebrow, pulling his head back a bit. “You’re far more qualified to answer that question!”

“Pff. Not _that_ much more.”

“You’re friends with one, Belle.”

“You’re raising one!”

“Alright, I see your point, but you have more practical experience with that sort of thing.”

She mulled it over for a bit, her pretty lip disappearing between her teeth until with a shrug, she muttered, “Maybe it depends on the type of forest.”

“That’s a thought! Which is more goth? Deciduous or coniferous?”

“Oh. I was thinking more like, you know, a bunch of dead trees or something, but now I really wanna know.”

“Well, I can’t ask Neal,” he decided, shaking his head very seriously. “You’ll have to ask Jefferson.”

Belle put her beer back on the coffee table and crawled over his lap to grab her phone from the little end table next to the couch. It was far too tempting not to press down on her back and have her soft belly warm his thighs. With a giggle, she just went with it and flopped down into his lap. Slowly, absently, Gold rubbed her back as he watched her thumbs fly over the buttons lightning quick.

“You’re texting him right now?”

“Yeah! There. Done.” She put her cellphone on the armrest. “Tiny chance I just woke him up, but he’ll forgive me. It’s important business; I’m sure he’ll understand.”

She twisted around to lie on her back, and yeah. He completely agreed. No-one could possibly be mad at the adorable creature laid out across his lap, her arms up over her head and a smug little smile on her flushed face. The dim light of the floor lamp behind the sofa caught the tiny silver stud in her nose and glinted prettily.

“So you’re not a goth,” he said, gently coiling a lock of her soft hair around his index finger.

“No.”

“What are you, then?”

“I don’t know. Nothing, really? I just like pop punk.”

And black nail polish, and hair dye, and ripped tights and loud music.

“Not seventies punk?”

“Well, I mean, I do kind of like The Clash. But most of the stuff I like is recent. It’s everywhere at the moment, but I don’t think you’ll have heard of any of it.”

“Very unlikely,” he agreed.

“Blink 182?”

“Afraid not.”

“Green Day?”

“Sounds familiar, but I wouldn’t be able to point them out in a police line-up.”

“Jimmy Eat World?”

“Definitely not.” He let her soft hair uncoil from his finger, giving her a smile and a shrug. “That’s what you get for dating a living fossil.”

She rolled her eyes, laughed a deep, “Oh, shut up,” and poked him in the chest with a single finger. “Were you a punk?”

“Nah. Not me.”

Humming thoughtfully, Belle clambered up to sit sideways in his lap, and then with a mischievous grin plunged her hands deep into his hair, gently but firmly pulling up as much of it as she could catch in her fingers.

“What are you -”

“Mohawk!” she declared victoriously.

Slowly putting down his beer, Gold narrowed his eyes. Those were the only warning signs he afforded her before launching an attack on her ribs with busy fingers, making her squeal and giggle and squirm in his lap until she cried out for him to stop. Obedient _and_ satisfied, Gold settled his hands on her thighs instead and - not without a massive dollop of smugness in his smirk - admired the results. Her hair was a bit messier than before, her round cheeks pink. She wore a grin so wide it almost looked painful, and her eyes were gleaming with a tear or two.

“Alright,” she said, laughter lacing her voice. “Can’t mess with the hair too much. Got it.”

“Oh no, you misunderstand, Belle. You can do whatever you want with my hair. It’s just that you had your arms up, that’s all. Couldn’t resist.”

She smirked and kissed the tip of his nose, then slid out of his lap to settle next to him again. A bit closer now, though. She had her legs curled under her and she leaned into him. A perfect fit, he thought to himself as he draped his arm over her shoulders.

“So. Do you like camping?”

“Not particularly. I have a cabin out in the forest. Fewer insects, basic comforts. I much prefer that for a weekend getaway.”

Her smile fell away quite suddenly, replaced with a blank look he didn’t understand.

“You’ve got a cabin,” she said softly.

It didn’t sound like a question, but what else could it have been? He offered a meek nod.

“Yes. Near the lake.”

Then, as if he’d imagined that strange quiet moment brought on by the mere mention of his old dusty cabin, her smile was back, and no less radiant than before.

“And Neal prefers the tent?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s odd.”

“I don’t get it either. Authenticity? Contrarianism? I’m not sure.”

“What about romanticism? You said he was kind of poetic,” she explained. “A while ago. Back in the store.”

Gold smiled and pulled her a little closer against him. She didn’t need to tell him when; he remembered that day, and he was fairly sure he always would.

“I did. The first time we met.”

A little smile bloomed on her face, and she nodded.

“Well, he _is_ sensitive,” Gold sighed. “Very creative and imaginative, too. Could just be he likes the idea of sleeping under the stars. You might be on to something.”

She slipped out from under his arm for a moment to put her beer back on the table. To his utter delight, she just plopped herself right back over his lap again, her head on the armrest (he slid her phone out of the way just in time), her knees drawn up, and her hands on his arm. She’d pulled it over her waist herself. Unnecessary, because he would have done that anyway, but incredibly endearing.

“I like stargazing,” she said, nodding to herself. “But I think I’d prefer a roof over my head, you know, for sleeping.”

“We could go there. Any time you like.”

She looked up at him with a curious little smile he couldn’t quite read. Distant, almost. Suddenly, her phone beeped and buzzed its way to the edge of the armrest, where Gold was only just quick enough to save it from a potentially deadly crash to Belle’s studio floor. Used to that grating noise, undoubtedly, Belle didn’t startle.

“Probably Jefferson,” she said as she took the phone from him. She held it up above her face, pushed a few buttons and after a couple of seconds of silence, burst out in delicious laughter, shaking on his lap.

“What? It it deciduous?”

She couldn’t speak, just shook her head and turned the phone’s tiny screen to him. It read:

_It’s 1:24 am. Have sex or go to sleep._

Gold chuckled and let his head fall back against the back of the couch with an exaggerated sigh. More sensible than he looked, that Jefferson. Belle was still giggling, and he couldn’t resist putting his hand on her tummy as it shook.

“Can you put that over there for me?” she asked, still half giggling. She thrusted the phone up over her head and backwards towards the table next to the couch, mewling, “I can’t reach.”

He could, but he had to lean over her to do so. With the phone safely back where he was sure he wouldn’t accidentally knock it to the floor, Belle hooked a finger in the collar of his borrowed t-shirt and _tugged_ , keeping him from sitting upright again.

He returned her charming lop-sided smirk, then leaned down and kissed her. God, her lips were so soft. Plush. Every time they kissed, he wondered why on earth they’d been doing anything else before that. Her fingertips ghosted over his neck, light touches that left sparks in their wake. Then she busied herself with his hair, which was fair enough; he did tell her she could do whatever she wanted with it.

The strain on his neck got a bit too much after a handful of slow kisses, so he broke apart and let his forehead rest on hers for a moment. Not with all of the weight of his heavy, useless, lovestruck skull, of course. Just a little bit. He could tell from her eyes that she was smiling. She played with his hair, and he simply listened. To her breathing, to the sound of his hair brushing against the fabric of his t-shirt as she played with it, to the sounds of the building. The place was full and alive, even at this late hour. The sound was hollow, muffled, distant and not all that bothersome, but it was constant.

“Do you ever feel trapped in here?” he asked softly.

“Not really.”

She must have spotted the tiniest hint of doubt in his eyes, as close as they were. Or perhaps she’d just gotten better at reading him, which was worrisome and strangely exciting at the same time. It didn’t matter anyway. She was going to convince him. He could tell.

“I’ll show you.”

She gave his shoulder a gentle push so she could slip out of his lap and to her feet. Gold heaved himself up too, mindful of his ankle, which was a little more sore than usual. He didn’t regret picking her up earlier - he’d do it all over again - but perhaps he shouldn’t have stood there in front of her bed for quite so long. Should have just let her fly a bit sooner, his flightless little bluebird.

“Come on. Bring your beer.”

He followed her to the window by the bed and watched as she pulled the curtain to the side to reveal a glass sliding door, leading out to a little balcony. The door squeaked as she pulled it open, but then it rolled smoothly to the side. When he joined her outside and took it all in with bleary eyes struggling against the nighttime darkness, Gold began to understand. There wasn’t a lot of room there, out on the balcony itself. Two white plastic chairs stood close to each other, an empty ceramic flowerpot in the corner. Not even any room for a little table of sorts.

But it was what was beyond the balcony that proved her point. Under a wide open sky dotted with jagged little stars and a bright moon, lay a field. A vast expanse of grass and weeds stretching out in front of them. There were buildings in the distance with just one or two lights on at this late hour, but those warm yellow spots of civilization were small and far off. The moon was bigger.

Over the chorus of crickets down below and muffled music coming from an apartment on the other side of the building drifting over on the breeze, Gold heard her voice in a soft, happy murmur.

“They’ll probably pave over it and build more housing one day. But for now, it’s pretty nice. Isn’t it?”

“It’s lovely.”

“I don’t even know who owns it, or if it’s city property. It’s just… there.”

Wide open space like that didn’t stay wide open for very long, Gold knew. It was fertile ground for apartment buildings and commercial lots, parking space and perhaps a conciliatory city park in the best of cases. It was a miracle that it was there at all. So they stood out there for a little while, side by side, sipping their beer, standing close. And later, in her bed with all of the lights out and his trousers somewhere on the floor again, he pulled her close. Heat be damned. Arms around her, he moved his head a bit so he could fit hers under his chin, and then everything was perfect. Everything made sense.

Well, not her sudden muffled giggle so much. That, he didn’t get.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, loosening his embrace a little so he could look at her flushed face. She was grinning, then biting her lip, and very clearly trying not to laugh.

“You know I love being this close to you, but I’m not sure if I’m gonna be able to fall asleep this way.”

“Oh! I’m sorry!”

He disentangled from her immediately, scooting back to the other half of the bed to give her her space. She settled on her stomach with a sleepy smile, her hands under her pillow. Of course. He’d gotten carried away. The girl did need to breathe, after all.

“Just a bit too hot, that’s all. I’m sorry. Maybe when it starts getting cooler at night, if you’re still interested in smothering me then. A window this big is nice in the summer but it’s gonna get chilly here in a few months.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“Good.”

“Now you know my secret,” he sighed dramatically. “I’m a literal clinger.”

She laughed, shaking her head a little.

“Not a bad thing. Just…”

“Just not when you’re trying to sleep, right?”

“Yeah. That’s all it is.”

She was being far too apologetic about it. But he thought it profoundly sweet that she was at all worried about his feelings on the matter.

“I really do like it,” she cooed, putting her warm little hand on his cheek. “I mean it. You do this thing…”

“Mm?”

She took her bottom lip in between her teeth again and nibbled on it as she gathered her words.

“You sort of put your hand on my back, or on my arm or my shoulder or my hip when we walk into a room, or you know, just when we’re walking.”

Oh. Did he do that a lot?

“Any excuse to touch you,” he replied, wiggling his eyebrow.

“Nah, seriously, it’s one of those things you don’t realize you do.”

Shit. Plural?

“I realize I touch you often.”

“But it’s subconscious a lot of the time. I can tell.”

“How could you possibly tell?”

“I just can,” she replied with a shrug and a delightful grin. “Anyway, if we’re making animal comparisons tonight, you’re kinda like a cattle dog, is what I wanted to say. Except you don’t have a herd to… herd… so you make do with me.”

“Is it too much?”

“No! I think it’s sweet that your instincts tell you to make sure I don’t get lost those whopping twelve steps from the front of your shop to the courtyard.”

He tried to pretend to be affronted, patronized by her fawning tone, but he could feel his smile breaking through. Her giggle didn’t help matters much.

“Well, I’m still not sure if I agree with the comparison. You know herding is just redirected predatory behavior, right?”

“Why would I know that?” she laughed. “And I’m sorry, is that supposed to prove that my comparison is _in_ accurate?”

They shot each other playful looks for a moment, with narrowed eyes and contained smirks. It only took a few seconds for her to burst out in laughter again and drag him along with her.

All laughed out, the pair of them settled down for sleep. Sliding her arm a little closer, Belle fit her hand under his. The back of her hand in his palm.

“Anyway, it doesn’t matter what it is or why you do it. I love it.”

He smiled. She smiled back. And with a feeling not unlike the intense flutter in the pit of your stomach right as the plane takes off, Gold fell just a little bit deeper. It was the thought of her nose and cheeks nipped red by the winter chill and that field beyond the window white with snow that did it. It was the sweetness of the gesture when she gave him her hand as consolation. It was that one word she used just then. A heavy word that had wings.

Without taking her hand out from under his, Belle leaned over and kissed him softly goodnight.

“Night, clingy koala.”

Gold gasped, dismayed by this blatant pet name snatching.

“ _You_ of all people can’t call _me_ koala!”

“Just did!”

…

When Gold awoke in the morning, blinking against the light of a tentative sun, he realized that he had moved quite a bit in his sleep. So had Belle. He’d ended up on his back somehow, and it seemed she had gotten a little chilly during the night; she was much closer. Her face was smushed against his shoulder, her slow breaths hot through the fabric of the borrowed t-shirt. She was curled up against his side and her hands were little loose fists tucked under her chin. He wanted to pull her on top of him, hug her against his chest, but he knew that would surely wake her. Very carefully, he moved his head a little closer to hers. Just to be closer. It was the only part of him he could move without rousing her.

Nothing for it but to wait, then. So he closed his eyes and contemplated his good fortune. Lying there next to him was someone wonderful, someone who made him smile, someone who had somehow teleported right past his defenses. It was as if she’d made him forget something the moment he laid eyes on her, and he didn’t even remember what it was. It was gone now. Whatever it was, he didn’t miss it. Maybe he never needed it at all.

Minutes passed before the sheets around her sleepy limbs rustled and told him that she was beginning to wake up. She was moving her legs, and then a few seconds after, her head away from his shoulder. He looked at her, wondering with a bit of a brittle heart if she would still want him here. He needn’t have worried. A blink and a smile later, he had a soft little lioness sprawled on his chest, too sweet and sleepy to rip his throat out just yet. Gold smiled and splayed his hands against her back, keeping her close.

“Good morning, Belle.”

“Mm. Morning. Found your shirt.”

He watched as she pulled a familiar black fabric out from under her pillow. He tried to take it from her, but she tossed it to the foot of the bed. Out of his reach.

“You don’t need it yet,” she sighed as she made herself more comfortable on top of him.

Warm and content, Gold closed his eyes and let his hands find the only bare skin he could reach, her arms. Her shirt sleeves had been pushed up a bit during the night, and he could slide his hands right from her elbows to her shoulders. On her left shoulder, he felt an unevenness. A rougher stretch of skin, a few inches long, not very wide. Didn’t notice that the night before. He let his fingers brush past it again, unsure if it was alright to ask.

“From an accident,” she murmured into his chest. “Don’t worry about it.”

“A car accident?”

“Yeah. It’s nothing.”

He’d been in his fair share of car accidents. Most were minor, and then there was the one that left him a limp as a reminder. The other ones had truly been nothing, like she said.

But _Belle._

He felt his arms tighten around her. Flesh and blood. Fragile. Tiny. Important to him. Why was he so shocked? How had he forgotten about mortality so completely? Something was crumbling inside of him, now. Just a little bit, like dusty mortar from an old brick wall in an abandoned house, stirred by a gust of leaf-rustling wind. Something small but powerful behind it, waiting to get out.

This was serious. Nothing could happen to her now.

The hand that had been playing with the locks of hair near his ear began to travel down his chest, and her tongue flicked out against his neck, and oh. That was one way to make him forget about peril, loss, death. Definitely. He pulled her fully on top of him now, hands gripping her hips so he could push up against her like a useless teenager. Sweet and patient, she let him, for a little while. It was only right that their kisses were messy when everything else was lacking in finesse too. He almost whined when she slipped off of him, but then came that inelegant yet illuminating moment when the palm of a hand was licked and slipped right down into a pair of boxers, just to finish off the teenage fumble tableaux.

With the first touch of her fingers, she looked up and killed him on the spot just by staring at him, biting her lip, eyes like watery galaxies, so beautiful she reduced him to a dumb creature capable only of pleasured sounds and floaty imagery. Her hand was tight around him, and she was enjoying seeing him writhe and twitch, and he was never going to last with her eyes on him like that. With that pleased smile of hers. Never. But he supposed that wasn’t really the point of a hand job, and when he came she bit his neck, and he was lost, he was so, so lost.

She didn’t let him flip them over again, like the night before. She liked to be on top, then? He’d be an idiot to complain. He slid his hand down her polka dot pajamas, between her warm thighs. She was wet and hot on his fingers, her arms tight around his neck, her fingers clawing at his hair. He asked her to show him what to do for her, but she just breathed that he was doing well, that he was going to make her come soon, and if he were a man half his age, he would have been hard again long before she came, shuddering and breathing hard, collapsing against him in shivers and little stifled sounds of pleasure.

He dragged himself into her bathroom once they’d managed to disentangle, where his tired face in the mirror made him frown. Knowing that this was what Belle had had to wake up to was almost painful a thought. He looked horrible. Tired. Happy too, right before he actually noticed how terrible he really looked and saw his own smile vanish like a snowflake on a cinder, but God, she really had gotten the short end of the stick here. When he was with her, it was easy to forget how little sense it made that she should want him the way she did. But here, on his own, in this tiny bathroom, in bleaker light coming in through the small round frosted window above the toilet, those negative thoughts had him cornered. He splashed his face with water and bade his self pity - because he knew that was what it really was - to go slither back into whatever dark corner it came from for the day.

When he came back out, she’d made him coffee. Two mugs waiting for them on the kitchen counter. As she made the bed, he went looking for the milk and discovered that the interior of her refrigerator was rather a sad sight. Practically empty. He’d meant to see if he couldn’t fix them a quick breakfast, but that was definitely out of the question. There was a solitary egg, abandoned in a corner and propped up by a small tub of butter. Not much else.

“Darling? Do you even use this thing?”

“I know,” she sighed. “I cleaned it out this week. Haven't had the chance to go shopping yet.”

Something about her voice made him wonder, but he just as quickly moved on from the thought. He took the milk out and pushed the door shut, offering, “If you can hold on a little longer we could go and have breakfast somewhere.”

“Granny’s?”

“I don’t think I’m in the mood for that kind of scrutiny.”

“Oh. Alright.”

Oh dear. That pout of hers was enough to turn him off his coffee in an instant. She must have grown to like that place a lot more than he’d thought she would. He would just have to brave the looks and the whispers for an hour or so, then. Might not even be so bad. He tended to forget everyone else in the room, just chatting with her, anyway.

“You know what? I think I’m up for Granny’s after all.”

“No, it’s cool,” she replied, shaking her head with a little smile. “We can go somewhere else. Like, maybe…”

She stepped a little closer on her bare feet. Her pajamas were too big on her and the fabric around her ankles dragged on the linoleum a bit.

“I was thinking… maybe your fridge won’t be as much of a disappointment?”

“Yes!” he replied lightning quick, nodding perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. “Yes, that could work. I mean, I’d like that.”

“Cool!” she chirped, perking up with a bright grin. “I’d offer to let you use my shower, but I’m guessing yours might be bigger?”

Gold frowned and muttered, “Well, it is small, but I don’t think I’d have any trouble fitting -”

_Oh._

…

“And this is the bathroom.”

Gold glanced at her, wondering if she meant what she hinted at before. His heart skipped a beat when he realized that she did. She took his hand, pulled him into the room and closed the door behind them. She dropped her bag quite unceremoniously and sidled up to him, her fingers wrapping around his thumb.

“Yeah?” he asked quietly, feeling his smile grow into an excited grin.

“Yeah,” she replied with a cute little shrug. “Your shower’s huge, but that tub looks pretty big, too.”

A little surprised, Gold turned towards the tub - a beautiful claw foot bath he wouldn’t trade for any other - and thought it over. The logistics, however… It would be kinder on his leg, most certainly. It always was. They stood in front of his beloved cream tub with golden claws for feet and stared, sizing it up.

“We could also just… be normal about this,” offered Belle, shrugging out of her jacket. “You know. And do it separately.”

“We could.”

They didn’t.

Neither of them took up much space, nor did they want to. A fairly low water level seemed logical, at least until they were both in and soaped up. But then there was a bit of splashing and slipping and giggling when Belle decided she didn’t want to sit at opposite ends of the tub and moved over to lie back against his chest, her wet head on his shoulder and his arms around her slippery waist.

“Are you comfortable?” she asked, arching her neck to try and glance up at him.

“Very,” he lied.

The edge of the tub wasn’t that kind to the back of his skull. Should have taken a towel to use as a pillow. But he’d gotten used to it quickly, and it was more a sort of numbness, now. Not pain. Not really. She shifted in his lap rather awkwardly, so he hoisted her just a little bit higher.

“You’re sure you’re comfortable?” she asked. “I don’t wanna, you know, squash you there.”

“No, I’m fine. But speaking of… Don’t take the lack of erection as an insult,” he said in a deep, teasing tone. “I’m most definitely excited to have you all wet and naked in my lap.”

Belle giggled, the motion threatening to send her slipping right back down. Gold just pulled her up again, groaning a bit with the effort.

“I wasn’t gonna,” she replied. “Bathtub sex is impractical anyway. But this is nice.”

“It is. I’m using a towel for a pillow next time, though.”

“Oh!”

And there she went again, twisting and slipping in his hold as she turned around, the water splashing up and almost over the edges of the tub in her hurry. He was starting to feel remarkably like a bear desperately trying to hold on to his salmon dinner.

“Your poor head!” she cooed with a sweet pout, pushing her hand between the base of his skull and the edge of the tub.

“Now what?” he teased, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “Are you going to stay there and hold my head the entire time?”

“Oh. Hm. Alright, wait. Sit up.”

She lifted her slight weight so he could hoist himself up. He hooked his arms on the edge of the tub for purchase.

“Like this?”

“Exactly like that.”

Smiling victoriously, Belle settled herself in his lap again with her arm draped over his shoulder, this time as diagonally as she could, considering.

“There. Comfy?”

“Perfect,” he sighed happily, taking in the gorgeous sight before him. Her knees drawn up, little droplets of water on her breasts and her thighs, sliding slowly down.

But then she began to push his hair back with a certain concentration, away from his face, smoothing it down with her palms, and he looked up at her for a clue as to what on earth she was up to this time.

“Just seeing what you’d look like with your hair slicked back,” she explained, spotting his questioning look.

“Terrible. I could have told you that had you just asked.”

“Oh shush. Handsome.”

She combed her fingers through his hair, sent shivers down his spine when he felt her fingernails against his scalp.

“I get the feeling you’ve had your hair like this most of your life. Right?”

“I’ve had it like this for a long time, but I’ve cut it and grown it out again a few times over the years.”

“Well,” she sighed with a last ruffle through his hair to make the improvised slicked-back do disappear. “I like it a lot. Makes you even more handsome, and it’s fun to play with.”

Feeling his chest expand and warm with that simple, genuine compliment, Gold grinned proudly. He reached up and touched the blue in her hair. Much darker now that it was wet.

“Would you ever dye yours completely blue again?”

She seemed taken off guard by the question, her blue eyes suddenly wide. Did she think he’d forgotten about the picture she’d showed him? That picture of her beaming at the camera together with Jefferson in what he now realized was that little basement bar she’d taken him to yesterday?

“Probably not. Why? Would you like that?” she asked, sounding as if she fully expected the answer to be no. Like she was convinced that there was a joke, and she wanted to make it clear that she was in on it.

But there was no joke. She looked very happy in that picture. Because the flash had turned her eyes a bit red, her hair was the bluest thing in the composition. It was a luscious looking blue, silky and shiny in a bun on top of her pretty head.

“Yes,” was the answer, and he delivered it very gravely, knowing that even the faintest smile would lead her to think that it was a joke after all.

Belle shot him a confused look, waiting for the punch line with her lips slack and her brow furrowed. Well, she’d just have to make one herself, thought Gold, slowly letting himself smile again.

After a bit of staring, Belle settled on a teasingly lilted, “You’re just saying that cause you _like_ me,” which made him laugh.

They stayed in the water until it got a little too tepid for comfort and there were goosebumps on her arms. He felt them under his palms as he moved his hands up and down slowly, and he murmured something about getting dried off and dressed for a very late lunch.

They made a salad together. Well, he did most of the salad making. She just jokingly mocked him for having two different kinds of feta cheese in his fridge, then proceeded to “taste” both repeatedly, even when they’d already settled on the milder one. She did demand to do the dishes after, however, and Gold practically had to beg to be allowed to help.

“Have you ever been to Australia?” she asked, handing him a plate to dry.

“No. Am I missing out?”

She shrugged, smiled, and took his trusty sponge to the second plate. “Where have you been, then? Apart from Scotland.”

“Well, here, of course. Canada for business.”

“What did you get?”

“A very large decorative tortoiseshell clock,” he told her, wiggling his eyebrows.

“That sounds…”

“Horrendous. It was. But it turned a ridiculous profit.”

“Anywhere else?”

“I lived in England for a while, just here and there. London for a bit. Visits to France on occasion.”

“Ooh! France!”

“Nothing fancy.”

“Oh, right. Yeah. It’s just, like, a train ride. Right?”

“I mostly went by ferry. Before the channel tunnel was built, anyway.”

Her lips rounded for a quiet _oh_ , and then she looked pensive.

“I’ve never been on a boat,” she said. “Like a little inflatable dinghy in a pool, sure. Not an actual boat, though. Did you get seasick? Do people generally get seasick or is that just something you see on TV?”

He was still smiling at the mental image of her frolicking with some colorful pool toys, so it took him a while to notice that she was handing him the salad bowl to dry off. He took it with an absent apology, then replied, “I didn’t get seasick, but there were always some poor souls bent over the rail, having a terrible time of it.”

“I’d probably get seasick,” she mused quietly, nodding to herself. “I can’t read in the car without getting nauseous.”

What a tragic revelation! Such poor luck for a bookworm like her. He felt the strongest urge to crush her to his chest again, but there was cutlery to dry, here. Plenty of time to get clingy later.

With the washing up taken care of, they carried their half full wine glasses into the garden where they sat at his wooden patio table and basked in the late afternoon sun. The smell of his roses in the back of the garden and the delicious smell of someone else’s backyard barbecue floated over to them on a warm breeze, and Gold couldn’t remember the last time he’d had such a perfectly summery summer afternoon.

“What about you? Where have you been?” he asked, putting his glass of white wine to his lips.

“Well, Australia, obviously. And then here. And that’s it.”

“It’s a big country, though. Have you had the chance to travel around a bit?”

“Mm. Yeah, a bit.”

“Is there somewhere you’d really like to go?”

“France would be nice. My mom lived near Marseille for a while, before she met my dad. She always made it sound so beautiful. I’m sure she romanticized it for my sake, but…”

A slightly embarrassed smile pulled at her lips, twisting them, making him smile too. He nodded, wanting nothing more than to listen to her. To anything she wanted to tell him. Anything at all.

“It sounded so perfect. She had this little attic room with a view of the ocean and she got up to all sorts of crazy things she couldn’t really tell me about cause it was probably a little inappropriate.”

She sighed and raised her eyebrows at him meaningfully, and he chuckled under his breath.

“I’ve never been that far south,” he said, “but I’ve heard it’s beautiful.”

Belle twisted in her seat a little bit, to face him better. Gold did the same.

“Have you been to Paris?” she asked.

“I have.”

Her dreamy smile came back, and she began to trace the rim of her wine glass with a delicate finger. It sang beautifully.

“That’s where I’d like to go, I think.”

That was fine by him. He’d been there often enough and knew all the pretty places that would make her face light up. He could walk around with her all day and most of the night, and he would never tire of watching her discover beauty in things, and people, and places. Gold was smiling, waiting for her to carry on telling him about the cities she’d like to see, picturing her skirt fluttering in the wind as they walked along the Seine.

That was why her weakly murmured, “Mom said we were gonna go one day,” hit him as hard as it did, shocking the smile from his face. The word she’d left out - ‘but’, or ‘before’ perhaps - hurt hardest of all.

“She sounds wonderful,” was all he could manage, his voice suddenly dry.

“Mm. She was great.”

He couldn’t ask her how and when she passed, could he? Or if she didn’t miss her father more than she’d let on that night at the restaurant. She looked fragile, staring into her wine glass, her smile slowly fading away. And what had occurred to him only for a brief moment that morning - that she was mortal, that she was finite - washed over him now with a frightening force, and left him completely chilled.

Belle was not a shining beacon of joyous carefree youth. Not just a bright future without a past. She was a person with stories and secrets. Someone with bones and a heart that could break.

Hidden memories of brief distant looks and little cracks in her voice he’d only half-noticed flooded his mind in one immense wave of realization, and Gold didn’t care that his sudden grab at her hand might make her drop her glass. The glass, it turned out, didn’t fall. But Belle was torn her out of her melancholy reverie by his abrupt and rather pathetic need for physical reassurance that - please, _please_ \- she would be alright, and she would be alright with him.

She blinked, asked him for an explanation in complete silence with nothing more a subtle lift of her brow.

But he couldn’t explain.

“Will you stay the night?” he asked. “I’d like you to.”

She nodded yes, and he kissed her slowly returning smile.

His house wasn’t nearly as warm as her studio at night, because the heat rose up to the attic, and a breeze drifted from the open garden door, through every room on the ground floor, all the way to the cracked open window in his study and back out into the world. It was cool enough to stay close under a blanket that way, and it was with her back pressed against his chest and her steady breathing a comforting rhythm that Gold began to forget about that inexplicable fear that had gripped him earlier.

On his sofa, with the lights dimmed, they watched a documentary about viking sailing techniques together. He wasn’t paying that much attention, though. He was strangely unashamed when he realized there was no possible way she couldn’t feel him growing hard against her. She’d used his soap and his shampoo in the bath earlier, and it was those familiar scents all mixed with the exciting scent of _her_ that had him this way. Naturally, the memory of her beautiful slippery naked body in his arms followed. Her little smirk and the ghost of her nails lightly scratching his scalp, too.

He could ask her if she wanted to go to bed, but they were so comfortable here. Gold pulled her hair away from her neck and over her shoulder so he could kiss the sensitive skin. That knowing touch made her push back against him, and he let his hand travel further down over her hip. In silence, she guided his hand up under her skirt. Wet. The more he touched her, the more she moved against him. Her sweet breaths were making things so much worse, and when she pulled away, it took him all of his self control not to growl the way she’d teased him for before. But she was merely reaching for her bag near the table, and she was back in his arms soon enough. She handed him a condom over her shoulder, held loosely between two fingers.

“Like this,” she said, her voice soft and breathy as she pushed her panties down to her knees underneath the blanket. “If that’s okay.”

He couldn’t refuse her. Not ever.

Not that he wanted to. He just wished he could kiss her while he fucked her, but the sounds she was making as he moved slowly inside of her were so incredibly beautiful that all he could do was reach down between her legs, try to get her to make more. His other hand went up her top to hold her closer, one of hers reached back to grab his thigh, another one in his hair, _pulling_ just right. It didn’t take very long for either of them. And they could barely move, after. But that was alright with him. She was the first to gather enough strength to actually do something, pushing him down instead of on his side, twisting around under the blanket and crawling right back on top of him again. She completely, utterly, one hundred percent belonged there; a weightless little bird on his chest, trapped under that blanket, in no hurry to escape. She was all hollow bones and soft feathers falling down to tickle his neck, and he couldn’t get enough of her.

In his bed later that night, with the lights off and the covers up over their shoulders, a few of her swallowed words escaped when his fingers found her cheek in the darkness.

“I wanna meet him,” she said, her voice a murmur. “I don’t want you to think I don’t. I just…”

He waited patiently, thumb stroking her cheek, maybe hoping it would get the words out easier. Should he have told Neal already? The unpleasant feeling in his stomach told him yes.

“When you first saw me, how old did you think I was?”

He swallowed nervously, tried to cover it up with a little shrug.

“Twenty. Twenty-one. But you’re not.”

“Yeah, but I still look it. And Neal, he’d… I don’t think he’d be caught dead at a Hot Topic. And then all of the sudden dad’s dating a twenty-one-year-old Hot Topic employee?”

It wouldn’t be pleasant, of course, that first confession. That he’d been seeing someone far younger, essentially. But he couldn’t worry about that now, not with Belle here, and certainly not when he needed to comfort her. To tell her that it was alright.

“You’re neither of those things anymore, darling.”

Her eyes widened to swallow up more moonlight, and then she looked down, long lashes fluttering. Again, there was something. Something about her in that moment, an indescribable thing that wouldn’t stop gnawing at him. And he couldn’t understand what it was, or why it made him make a stupid joke, telling her, “Don’t tell me you lied about your age.”

She looked up again to roll her pretty eyes at him, and he smiled at the familiar sight. Much better.

“No. You know I didn’t. I’m worried, that’s all. I like you. I really like you a lot, and I’m…”

Her voice trailed off. She sighed.

“You’re what, love?”

Frightened. That was what she looked like. It made his heart hurt, his lungs feel as if they were too big for his chest.

“Nothing. Worried.”

He couldn’t resist anymore. He pulled her towards him, cupped the back of her head in his palm and kept her close. She let him. Even slid a hand around his back to grab his shoulder tight.

“Please trust me. He’ll like you. When the time comes, everything will be alright.”

Belle breathed in deep, then exhaled in a shaky sigh, warm on his skin. She pulled away a bit, looking up to meet his gaze.

“Okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I trust you.”

He kissed her softly, and then he let her go. She settled on her side of the bed and reached out again like she had the night before. Her little fingers were on the back of his hand now, creeping in between his to weave them together. It was a gesture that he now knew meant so much more than having her entire body swallowed up in his suffocating embrace.

Still…

He would never admit to hoping she’d get cold again that night, but he’d be there for her if she did. That was all.


	10. The Middle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Certain things come to a head on a rainy day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you. <3

It was not a perfect Sunday morning by any means, despite the beautiful bundle of warmth sleeping next to him all night. It began at half past six in the morning when the loud buzz of his phone nearly gave him a heart attack. His first frantic thoughts were of Neal, but that person-sized owl chick was probably still cocooned in his sleeping bag, snoozing away in a tent in the woods. It was his ex-wife. The phone call was well-intended for a change, but incredibly ill-timed. With Belle studying him from her pillow, her blue eyes small with sleep, Gold hurriedly told Milah that no, now wasn’t the best time but he understood the trouble with timezones; that yes, she’d kept it rather late, but he didn’t immediately object to her inviting Neal to stay with her in Portugal for a week when school let out for the summer, or Crete, or wherever else as long as it wasn’t a war zone. That no, he had no idea which Neal would prefer; yes, he appreciated her asking him before she did Neal (well done); that he didn’t know how long it would take to get his passport in order; and finally, that he’d rather she didn’t call Neal today because he would be tired from his camping trip. It would give him the chance to play the role of bad guy in case Neal wanted to say no without hurting his mother’s feelings. He did not owe his ex-wife anything. Legally speaking, anyway. Neither did Neal.

The call didn’t even take five minutes but it set the tone for the rest of the morning. He couldn’t go back to sleep, and neither could Belle, though they did try for a bit. Her eyes were full of questions, but he didn’t want to ruin the rest of the day by recounting the divorce and everything that led up to it - _definitely_ not everything that led up to it. He made breakfast, but his frittata didn’t come out right, which annoyed him more than it should have. She drank her morning coffee with him, out in the garden sitting in his lap, and she told him she might have to skip out on a few of their lunch dates in the coming weeks, unpleasant news pleasantly brought in between kisses and sips of coffee. She rattled off a list of books she had to read, changes she had to make to her blog, e-mails she needed to send, just everything. Everything but what he was waiting to hear, and he wasn’t sure what exactly that was, but by the time she’d left, he knew she hadn’t said it. He felt it in his bones. She left before she had to, before he wanted her to; Neal wasn’t due to be dropped off in three more hours. The kiss goodbye was not long enough.

The last time he saw Belle before everything went unexpectedly wrong was on Tuesday. She dropped by with coffee and sandwiches even though it had been his turn to take care of lunch. He resolved to beat her to the punch for the rest of the week, but then she rendered that plan useless when she told him that there was a good chance she wouldn’t be able to make it at all. Saturday evening or Sunday might work, she said, but she’d understand if that was impossible for him. She left him feeling strange and a little nervous. There was something. He could tell. But he couldn’t pin it down.

That Wednesday without her bursting into his shop around midday and brightening up the place with no effort at all was dull and dragging. It was far too hot outside for his liking, so he took his break inside with his phone nearby. He stared at it, wondering if it was alright to call her. Surely it was? If he was disturbing her, she would say so. And if not, then he would hear it in her voice and he would know to leave her alone.

With his tea steaming in front of him, Gold grabbed his phone and called her. It took a while for her to pick up, each beep making him more nervous than the one that came before it. Finally, just as he was about to give up, she answered.

“Hey!”

“Sweetheart, hey!”

He heard distant music in the background, and he hoped she could concentrate on her writing like that, but then again, she’d managed to so far, hadn’t she? He was worrying too much.

“How are you? Something up?”

“I’m fine, I just wanted to see how you were doing. I’m used to having you around now. Felt wrong not to check in at least.”

“Aw, yeah, it’s weird for me too. What did you have for lunch without me?”

“Nothing yet,” he replied with a smile, tapping his finger against his mug absently. “Probably go home and eat last night’s leftovers if Neal didn’t get to them in the middle of the night.”

“Ooh! What did you make?”

“Just roast chicken and some grilled vegetables. Might make a salad out of it.”

“That sounds good, though. You’re gonna cook me dinner some time, right?”

“Course I will!”

Just as he was about to ask her what she would like him to cook, the music got louder as if a door had been opened, and then quickly quieter as if something had blocked the receiver. Her hand, maybe. Despite the obstruction, he could still hear a muffled voice. Was someone there with her? Before he could be sure, everything got more quiet again. The door had shut. His smile had frozen and then melted away slowly as he realized that unless there was an entire sound installation rigged up in her hallway, she wasn’t at home. He licked his lips nervously, felt himself frown.

“Belle?”

“Yeah! Still here!” came her hurried reply.

“How’s the writing going?” he asked, straining to listen for background noise and a tell in her voice, other than the slightly higher pitch of it.

“Oh, you know. Kind of a pain, but I’m making progress. Hey, look, I have to go. I’m sorry. I’ll call you tonight, okay?”

“Alright,” he replied quietly. But no, this wasn’t right. He sat up a little straighter and quickly asked her, “Everything okay?” before she could hang up.

“Yeah! Just have to take care of something real quick.”

“Okay then. Take care, now.”

“You too! Bye!”

_Click._

Gold sat at the table in complete silence, staring at the dark liquid in his cup as his unease grew. Belle was not at home, that much he was certain of, and there was someone there with her, wherever she was. The third indisputable fact was the most disconcerting: she did not want him to know.

Fortunately, it didn’t take too long for an explanation to present itself to him, taking away some of that growing heaviness in his chest. Was she working at Hot Topic again, he wondered? She might have been hiding away in the back room to take his call. That would explain the music getting louder when the door was opened. By a colleague, perhaps?

The relief he felt when he realized that it could just be that, that it was something he could solve, that perhaps there wasn’t some vastly superior (and younger) suitor backed by her father, swooping in to snatch her away, was tremendous.

But it didn’t last very long. Because all he could think about was the sight of her near-empty fridge.

Gold pushed himself up from the table, found his cane and his keys, left his hot tea to go to waste and closed the shop. With a paper bag full of coffee and cake hastily purchased from a silently scowling Granny, Gold drove towards the mall. The closer he got, the more the heaviness began to lift itself from his shoulders. He smiled as he drove, picturing the look of surprise on Belle’s face when she saw him and realized that he had figured it out. How had he not seen it sooner, the trouble she was in? He’d felt it before he knew it. He was so charmed by her and everything she did that all of those wobbly moments where she nearly tripped up had just sailed right past him like little paper boats past a supertanker on a calm ocean in the dead of night. But he knew, now, and now that he did, he could fix it. He could save her. Well, no, perhaps that was a bit too dramatic a phrase. But he could definitely fix it.

He parked near the loading docks where she’d shared her tea with him that time just in case she was taking her break there, but he didn’t see her. Once through the sighing automatic doors, the air inside was dry but cool, the light almost as bright as the sun outside. It made her store stand out tremendously. Inside, folding t-shirts with her back turned to him, was his Belle. He was right.

The black tights were back for the occasion, and he hadn’t seen those combat boots in a while either. There was a boy standing behind the counter reading a comic book, but there were no customers. Gold smiled. Close enough. He walked up to her as quietly as he could considering the cane.

“Hello,” he said. “Brought you lunch.”

With a sharp intake of breath, Belle snapped around, t-shirt in her hands flapping, eyes wide as could be. A lovely doe deer in the headlights. Pleased with her reaction, Gold grinned and held up the paper bag a little higher.

“Black Forest. Not as big of a slice as Granny would have given you, but still.”

After two seconds of tense silence, Gold began to suspect that this wasn’t actually going as well as he’d imagined it would in the car. There was no laughter, no arms around his neck, no smiling peck on the lips. Just a wide-eyed stare and stiff limbs. He felt his grin dying on his face, a chill descend from the very tip of his skull all the way down to his feet.

“How did you know?” she asked in an unnervingly monotonous manner.

“I, uh… It was a bit of a guess, but… On the phone earlier, I heard the music. Figured you were in there.”

He looked towards the door to the back room and nodded for emphasis, and when he looked back, she was frowning.

“You knew on the phone?”

“Well…”

He nodded, swallowing a sudden lump in his throat. Her face, the picture of disquieted confusion mere seconds before, smoothed over for a blank look instead. He wasn’t sure which was worse. Both had him worried.

“You knew. Why didn’t you say something?”

“Why didn’t you tell me about this?” he shot back.

He regretted it even before he saw her frown return, making deep lines in her forehead, pushing her eyebrows together.

“Maybe I wasn’t ready for you to know.”

There was a crack in her voice, a tremor he wished he could unhear but knew he never would. It cut to the bone, made his stomach clench unpleasantly.

“What does it matter now?” he asked her, smiling as reassuringly as he could with that unbearable tension in his gut. “You don’t have to do this. What happened to that job Sidney -”

“I know what I have to do.”

The silent _‘and don’t tell me I don’t’_ had his ears ringing. He glanced down at her hands, too weak to face her stare, so unfamiliar to him in this moment. So different from how he remembered it. Her fingers were twisting the cotton a bit, gripping the unfolded t-shirt tight. His heart beating in his throat, Gold stepped closer.

“Darling, if it makes you so upset, I can write you a check and you can go straight back to your studio to write right now. You know I can do that for you. I _want_ to do that for you. I can’t imagine your rent would even make a dent in -”

He stopped and bit down on his tongue as if on the rest of that sentence, but it was too late. Her eyes had sprung open wide, and oh God, he wished he hadn’t left his shop at all. An unbearable tightening in his stomach told him he’d said something - or a series of somethings - unbelievably stupid, the dismayed look on her face apparently not obvious enough for his cursed, stumbling brain to fully comprehend the gravity of the situation.

“You could have asked about it on the phone,” she told him with a trembling voice, taking a quick step back. All of the air in his lungs seemed to follow her. “But you showed up here to… To what? Catch me out? Gloat?”

He was gripping his cane so tight he thought the gold might very well melt back down to a scorching puddle again in a minute. He shook his head feverishly, sputtering, “I-I’m not gloating, Belle! Sweetheart, I just want to solve this for you. Won’t you let me?”

A beat of silence, and then the quietest, “I’m working.”

Gold couldn’t move. He knew that meant he had to leave, but he couldn’t. He just couldn’t until he saw her eyes begin to brim with tears and heard her voice crack when she repeated, “I’m working. Please go.”

“Belle…”

She turned around and walked briskly off into the back room, leaving him alone with the gawping young man he’d tried so hard to ignore so far. The boy had witnessed everything. He was tall and thin, his hair an unnatural black, and he had some dodgy tattoo parlor’s entire collection of flash art on his arms. 

“Shit, man,” the boy mumbled, raising a pierced eyebrow. “You can pay my rent if you want.”

He could barely bring himself to glare.

“Jeez, alright. Just a joke. But I’m gonna need you to leave, cause I don’t think she’s coming out if you’re still here, and I hate folding t-shirts.”

He stared at the closed door for a while, wondering if he should call out to her. If he should ask this boy to reason with her, to get her to come out long enough so he could fall to his knees and apologize for whatever it was that had caused this. But instead, and perhaps more sensibly, Gold handed him the paper bag.

“Her coffee’s with sugar and milk. It’s the one on the right. Your right. Have mine if you want.”

He felt the boy’s eyes on him as he walked out of the store. His pace slowed gradually, because the further from her he got, the hollower he felt. Not just hollow. Guilty for the spark of excitement he had felt at the prospect of surprising her here. Dazed, too. And a little bit terrified.

Belle didn’t call that evening, which was understandable, he supposed. He’d obviously messed up. He’d upset her, made her cry, and he hated himself for it, but still he wished she would call at least. Even if just to yell at him. But she didn’t call when he was preparing the goulash, nor when he was putting the dishes away, or when he dropped Neal off at his art class because it was raining. She didn’t call when he picked him up again with an impressive but rather depressing clay facsimile of a dead crow in his lap either. All evening, Gold didn’t let his phone out of his sight. He was uncharacteristically exhausted, so he drank coffee and kept alert so he could see the screen light up and flash her name. But that didn’t happen.

At about ten in the evening, the tightness in his chest had become too much to bear, so he called her. She didn’t pick up. He decided to text her instead, asking her if they could talk. _No,_ came the answer four minutes later.

_Then can I text you?_

He waited twenty horrible minutes for a reply that never came. With his mouth dry and his eyes stinging, Gold painstakingly typed a series of messages telling her that he hadn’t meant to gloat, that he only wanted to help, that she didn’t have to do anything she didn’t want to, that he could fix this for her. Minutes passed without a reply, and as he was staring up at the ceiling in his cold bed later that night, his phone on the covers next to him finally lit up and buzzed.

_I need some time alone_

He barely slept. All he could think about were the things he should have done. The reasonable things. He should have just been patient with her, or asked her, like a normal human being, if she was back at her old job. Perhaps he shouldn’t even have called at all, pathetically attached as he was. If he hadn’t called her, he wouldn’t have caught on that something was amiss. If he hadn’t caught on, then he wouldn’t have tried to help, and if he hadn’t tried to help, then he wouldn’t have put his foot in it. But if he hadn’t tried to help, what manner of man would that have made him?

No, he couldn’t sleep, because he kept seeing her eyes, no matter how hard he clenched his own shut and begged his brain for sleep. He’d never seen her angry before. That fiery flash in her wide eyes as he said something he wished he could remember, he knew that was anger. But the look on her face when she whipped around and saw him, that was more than surprise, he was starting to understand. Whatever it was, it was not good.

Bleary-eyed and with an aching head, he texted her good morning on Thursday. No reply. That evening as he was searing the veal, listening to Neal groaning at his homework in the background, Gold realized that he had missed the point. He had embarrassed her. That was what that look was. He knew how important her independence was to her, and yet he had practically thrown a stack of money at her, made some dumb comment about her rent, and all of this in the most public way imaginable. At her workplace, for fuck’s sake! Just to have the satisfaction of surprising her, of saving her. Forlorn on the edge of his bed that night, he texted her sorry, and sweet dreams. It took a while, but when her reply came, he was still wide awake. _I need more time_. He wanted to choke the life out of himself.

His Friday good morning text and accompanying apology went unanswered. He was determined to be patient with her, but he found himself using his lunch break to drive up to the mall to see her car parked there. Feeling like a terrible creep, Gold went straight back to his shop once he’d spotted the rusty thing; he just had to make sure that nothing had happened to her. A sign of life. That afternoon as he was waiting for the mussels to open so he could pick out the dead ones that hadn’t, he tried to figure out just how much damage he had caused. Enough to warrant how many days of this, he wondered? Had he said something especially heinous other than that idiotic comment about her rent and just forgotten about it? In the evening, staring down a tumbler of scotch, he began to wonder if she was ever going to speak to him again. The thought made his throat feel tight, but not as tight as it was right before he saw her car that day. Before he went up to bed, Neal paused in the doorway to the study and asked him if he was getting a cold. Gold smiled and replied that that was probably it. He went to bed with a brick in his stomach, dreading the next day’s radio silence. A cold. If only.

Saturday morning with a soft rain hitting the kitchen windows, he finally got that frittata right. Neal didn’t care for it, though he very sweetly tried to cover it up by finishing his plate regardless. Gold baked him his favorite cake in the afternoon. Ostensibly, it was to make up for the lackluster breakfast, but really, he just needed to keep busy. He hated baking, but it gave him something to do, both penance and occupational therapy. Anything to keep from texting. His phone in his pocket felt heavy as stone, and he wanted more than anything to hear her voice without last time’s devastating tremble. But she hadn’t replied at all since she told him she needed more time, and he didn’t want to upset her any more than he already had. So he put his phone out of his reach and felt sorry for himself instead. Coughed a few times to make Neal think it was a cold after all.

The rain did not let up that Saturday. It seemed fitting that the weather was shite, and he was glad. Sunshine at that point would just feel like a mockery. An insult. What was just a drizzle when he woke up had turned into a veritable downpour in the evening. Neal absolutely loved it; he hid away in his room, cracked his window open (it squeaked, he could always hear it) and played his records quietly so he could still hear the rain. Warm guitar tones drifted down the stairs towards where Gold sat at his desk in his study with an untouched tumbler of scotch in front of him, and he thought with a wistful smile that Belle was right. Neal was a romantic.

He almost didn’t believe it when his phone rang and displayed her name on the screen at around nine that night. He blinked at it stupidly a few times before scrambling to pick up, nearly dropping the damn thing to the floor.

“Belle! Sweetheart!”

But the voice on the other end was not Belle’s.

“Christ, am I glad it’s you. You’re in her phone under ‘Handsome’, I was half expecting my phone to ring. Is she ‘Sweetheart’ in your contacts?”

They hadn’t talked all that much, but Gold was not one to forget names, faces, or indeed voices.

“Jefferson?”

“The very same.”

His heart jumped in a sudden panic.

“What’s happened?” he barked. “Is she alright? Is she hurt?”

“Calm down momma bear, nothing happened. We’re at the bar.”

“Why are you calling me on her phone?”

“Relax! She’s in the bathroom and I don’t have your number. I guess I could have copied it, but you sure as hell picked up real fast this way, didn’t you?”

Gold swallowed down the last bitter bits of panic and asked him, “How is she?”

“Ah, glad you ask. She’s miserable, you _sound_ miserable, and perhaps most importantly, you’re both making me incredibly miserable. I’m asking you to please come collect your sad, pining girlfriend before I drive her over to your house and leave her on your doorstep in a basket.”

 _Girlfriend._ Not quite, but it sure sounded nice. Too bad he’d messed that up. Made her miserable. Made her not want to speak to him at all.

“She doesn’t want to talk to me,” he mumbled, sitting back in his chair. “I doubt she’d appreciate it if I showed up now.”

“Could have fooled me. She’s been talking about you non-stop. I’m guzzling coke after coke just to keep the bartender from giving us the evil eye, she’s been nursing her second beer for like half an hour now. She wants to see you, she’s just scared to pick up the phone and call.”

He supposed he hadn’t really known her all that long, but was it not unlike her to fear confrontation? He pushed his glass of scotch a few inches further away, suddenly quite sick with himself. If he had somehow given her cause to be even the slightest bit frightened of him, then that was another reason to despise himself, as if that particular pile wasn’t close to toppling over already.

“I think if she wanted to see me, she would. She told me that when she’s afraid of doing something, she -”

“She rushes in and gets it over and done with,” he interrupted, sighing as if he’d heard it a million times, perhaps more.

“Yeah. And she won’t even reply to my texts anymore.”

“Okay. Listen closely, cause this is crucial.”

“Alright…”

“She’s not fucking infallible.”

“What?”

“Look, I remember one time in high school, she was terrified to fail this test she’d studied really hard for. It was on some novel or other, can’t remember. She called me all panicky the night before, and I told her she’d be fine, that she could face this, you know, standard pep talk. Guess what she did.”

Gold, getting a little impatient, muttered, “Passed it with flying colors, I assume?”

“She straight up ran out of the room when the teacher started handing out the tests.”

He hadn’t realized that he was frowning so severely until his brain had processed that sentence and his eyebrows jumped up in surprise.

“You still there, man?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m still here. Why did she…”

“The book it was on was really important to her and she was the star pupil in the class. Couldn’t stand the thought of trying her best and getting that test back with anything less than a perfect score.”

“That’s…”

He let his voice trail off and sank a little deeper in his chair. He tried to picture her biting her lip those last few intense seconds of indecision.

“She was scared to fail, so she failed. Compared to just skipping school altogether, running out in full view could be considered pretty fucking ballsy, am I right?”

When she’d made her mind up, she would have pushed her chair back, perhaps toppling it in the process. She might even have left her bag behind as she made her desperate dash for freedom and oh. Oh no. This was not the time to finally and irrevocably fall in love with her, but there it was, and there he went.

“Yeah,” he sighed, feeling a knot form in his throat.

“There you go. That’s Belle’s panic logic. The wires get crossed when she’s stressed out, but she still clings to the bravery thing like it’s business as usual. It just doesn’t work.”

“And…” He tried to swallow that knot, but his mouth was too dry. “And how is this relevant?” he asked, more hopeful than he felt he had the right to be.

“Really?” screeched Jefferson. “Come on now, man. She’s embarrassed.”

“I know. I shouldn’t have shown up there like that.”

“Yeah, duh, and fuck you for that by the way, but I mean she’s embarrassed that the Hot Topic thing embarrassed her so much. It’s not that difficult.”

“But I made it clear I wanted to talk to her. I said I was sorry. What’s keeping her from just letting me know she wants to talk?”

“Oh my God,” Jefferson groaned. “Look, she thinks she’s pushed you too far. You didn’t text her today, and she’s terrified it’s the beginning of the end.”

“She wasn’t replying! I wasn’t going to harass her!”

“Didn’t I just explain she’s not thinking straight? I told her to call you already, but she only told me about all of this today. She’s been stewing in it. I can’t explain everything and there’s some things she needs to tell you herself, but just believe me when I say you need to come see her. Don’t you want to?”

“Of course I do. More than anything. But…”

He paused, shook his head, sank his fingers into his hair in frustration.

“But what?”

“Showing up when she didn’t expect me to made this whole thing happen in the first place. She distinctly said -”

“Forget what she said! You should hear her now! Oh, Jefferson, I miss him so much. I ruined everything, I’m wasting his time. His hair is so soft and his voice is so sexy -”

“Alright!” Gold cut in, clenching his eyes shut, wishing he could do the same with his ears. “There’s no need to -”

“He’s the best I ever had, Jefferson! I’m such a bloody idiot, he does this thing with his tongue -”

“Jefferson! Enough!” he hissed.

“She's coming back from the bathroom. If you wanna be with her, then hurry up. I'm gonna start writing poetry about this romance in a fucking minute. If you two break up I can never see you again, and to be pathetically honest, I’m so bad at keeping people in my life that technically, you qualify as a friend. Don’t set me back to just one.”

That was it, then. He would go. Gold pushed his chair away from his desk and stood up with a groan.

“That is a shit Australian accent. I’ll be there in twenty-five minutes.”

“If you’re not here in twenty-four I’m leaving you voicemails with my shit Scottish accent every day for the rest of your goddamn life. Hurry. Up.”

_Click._

Jefferson could be wrong, Gold thought to himself as he made his way up the stairs towards Neal’s room, but that was a risk that he had to take tonight. It was what Belle would do. Well, on a good day. Probably.

The door to Neal’s room was cracked open, but Gold knew to knock anyway. He’d learned that particular lesson.

“Yeah?”

He pushed the door open a bit and popped his head in. Neal sat on the floor, surrounded by pencils and paper. On his desk, incense burned. Half looked like he’d interrupted a ritual of some sort.

“Hey, something just came up. I’m going to have to head out, if that’s alright with you.”

“Sure, fine. You buying something?”

“Ah, hopefully. Yeah. It’s a last minute thing, might not work out, but I… I have to get it done tonight in any case.”

“Alright then,” sang Neal, one very skeptical eyebrow raised.

Fuck. If he hadn’t been in such a hurry, he would have bothered to make that sound much more believable than it actually did. But it didn’t matter now. He’d deal with that later if he had to.

“I might be late, so don’t stay up. I’ll leave a note when I get back. In case you get up before I do.”

_By some miracle._

“Alright, son,” Neal joked, mimicking his accent perfectly.

He’d forgotten about the torrential downpour outside until he opened his front door and a well-timed gust of wind sprayed his face completely wet. His cane in hand, he walked briskly to his car, biting his tongue to distract from his ankle. Once inside, he tossed his cane and his jacket onto the backseat, and he drove.

There was no traffic at this hour, but the rain slowed him down. He couldn’t park right in front of the bar and it was still pouring buckets, but what did a few gallons of water in his hair matter? Nothing, surely. He just had to get there. See her. No time for his jacket or his cane. He just limped his way down the concrete steps and into the ridiculous heat of the basement bar to which Jefferson had ordered him to fly. It was busy, but not packed, and right there in the back corner, that was where he saw her. Her back to him, hunched over a bit, staring at her beer glass or something else. He couldn’t tell from there. Opposite her sat Jefferson, who mouthed a great big relieved _thank God_ when he noticed him from across the room.

Slowly, his heart beating double-time in his chest, Gold stepped closer. As he neared, Jefferson reached out and tapped the back of Belle’s hand to snap her out of her sad stare. When she lifted her head, he heard his own dry voice call out.

“Belle?”

She looked over her shoulder and shot him straight in the stomach with that hopeful look. God, he’d missed that face. Her chair scraping on the floor was louder than the music. He didn’t think, just stepped even closer and let her crash into his arms.

“Belle,” he sighed, cupping the back of her head as she pushed her face into his chest.

She took shaky breaths and wrapped her arms tighter around him with every passing second. All he could do was try to hold on just as tight. She smelled of her tea - cloves and cardamom and whatever else was in there - and her beer, her shampoo and someone else’s secondhand smoke. He heard the softest little sob, and then he felt tears through his shirt, hot and wet.

He could only just make out her sniffled, “I’m sorry,” muffled against his chest.

“Sweetheart, don’t. It’s alright.”

He cracked open his eyes, and over Belle’s shoulder he spotted Jefferson watching them with a sad little smile on his face. Their eyes met, and he raised his eyebrows as if to say _I told you so_. Gold gave him a courteous nod, then closed his eyes again, pushing his nose into her soft hair. Dry. She’d been here a while, then.

“Do you want me to take you to your flat?”

“No, no,” she mumbled, shaking her head as she pulled away a bit to look up at him with big wet eyes. “Can you… Can you just drive us anywhere?”

“Course.”

She took her jacket off the back of her chair and slipped into it, then hugged a smiling Jefferson goodbye. He opened the door for her, but just as she was about to walk out, he put his hand on her elbow to stop her. It was still pouring. He’d left his jacket in the car, so he couldn’t have her hold that over her head to keep her dry. He didn’t have his cane, so he would have to walk slower.

“Here, take the keys,” he said, fishing them out of his pocket. “Make a run for it, I’ll catch up.”

Belle frowned and shook her head weakly, took his arm and pulled it to her chest.

“There’s no point getting us both drenched, love,” he tried, knowing in his heart that it was useless to protest.

She shook her head again and pulled him out into the rain with her, up the steps, out into the world, arm in arm. Red, blue, yellow and green neon lights danced in the puddles they passed. He hadn’t really noticed that before, but now, with Belle safely curled around his arm, it struck him how beautiful it was. Cigarette butts and food wrappers drifted down the gutters. A man with a plastic bag held over his head dashed past them, feet kicking up droplets of rain. Every inch of him was steadily getting wetter, but it was a beautiful night.

In his car, Belle turned the radio on low with shaky fingers. It crackled, so Gold adjusted it a bit until the crackle had gone. Through the speakers sounded an old tune he didn’t recognize. The rain hitting the roof of the car was much louder.

“Where to?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Sorry.”

“I’ll think of something.”

Her eye makeup had run, painting black smears around her bright blue eyes. He put his hand on her bare thigh for just a second or two, just below the hem of her black denim skirt, and then he turned the key.

“I don’t usually get like this,” she muttered softly, folding her hands in her lap. He could barely hear her over the rain and the engine starting.

“It’s alright. Don’t worry about it, love.”

She gave him a quick faltering smile that he was too slow to return; she’d turned her head away again to stare straight ahead before he could. At the lights, he touched her fidgeting hands.

“Did Jefferson call you?” she asked, glancing at him.

“He did.”

“What did he say?”

“He told me about the time you were so afraid of failing a test on a book you liked you just ran out of the room instead.”

She huffed a tiny little laugh. Music to his ears.

“Yeah. I did.”

“And that I should come see you. I was worried I might upset you, but… I missed you, Belle. And your friend is very convincing.”

Her smile grew a little broader, bolder. It made him smile too.

“I’m glad. I like to think I would have called you myself eventually, but I got stuck in this… this _thing_. I don’t know what it was. But it’s not that I’m angry. Not anymore.”

The light turned green. He took his hand back.

“You have every right to be,” he said, pausing to wet his dry lips with his tongue. “I shouldn’t have offered to throw money at you. I should have waited and asked you later instead of showing up there like that. I’m sorry.”

He saw her shrug from the corner of his eye.

“It was insensitive,” she mumbled. “I don’t think you thought it through.”

“I didn’t.”

“You meant well.”

_Fat lot of good that did._

The bright lights of the town his Belle spent her days and nights in were behind them now. It was only then that he realized he was headed for the road that cut the forest between their neighboring towns in two. The headlights lit a path in front of them, white light on pine trees and mossy road signs.

“If you knew that was how I was going to react, I don’t blame you for not mentioning it.”

“Bit worse than just not mentioning it. I should have told you about the job right away.”

“No,” he said. “That’s not it. I suppose I just wish you knew you could have. I wish I’d made you feel like you could.”

“You did, I just…”

There was a bit of a tremor in her sigh, telling him those tears back in the bar might not have been the last. So he stopped the car by the side of the road. She looked at him with questioning eyes as he unbuckled his seatbelt, then did the same for hers.

“What are you doing?”

He opened the car door, nodded towards the back seat.

“Come sit in the back with me. Gearstick’s gonna get in the way.”

Out in the pouring rain for a few seconds more, and then safe in the backseat of his car with Belle pushing up against him, her arms tucked between their bodies, grasping at his shirt. Cloves, leather, shampoo, rain. He kissed her wet hair, and she began to cry again. Her body shook in his arms, convulsing with little sobs. His heart broke with every one of them. Gradually, the sobs turned to sniffles, and her breathing slowed. She’d stopped clinging to him quite so tightly, but he wasn’t ready to let go yet. He needed a few minutes of just having her there in his arms, and she let him have that, sweet and patient as she was.

After a while, gently as she could, she pushed herself out of his hold, muttering, “This is all so stupid.”

She looked so tired and small there in the back of his car, slumping a bit, hiding her hands in the sleeves of her jacket, face streaked with tears. She took a deep breath, still a little shaky.

“You think I’ve got a college degree, don’t you?”

“I thought you mentioned it at one point, yes.”

She shook her head, quick and sharp.

“I wouldn’t have mentioned an actual degree. Most I would have mentioned is going to college. I never finished.”

“Well, alright.”

Was that it? Was that honestly it? From her wide eyes and open mouth, it was easy to see that she was surprised at his reaction.

“Did you think I’d mind?”

“Maybe at first, a bit. But I wasn’t planning on never telling you, I promise. It’s just that…”

He nodded understandingly, and offered, “I’d started assuming.”

“Yeah. And I’ve been… I get weird when I get stressed out.”

“Well, I don’t care about degrees,” he told her.

“You don’t know how bad I messed up, though. I went on a bloody road trip in the middle of the last semester of my first year. I was already behind in some of my classes and I did it anyway. Alone. Like an idiot.”

“That’s not idiotic,” he said softly, not wanting to interrupt, but not wanting her to say things like that about herself even more than that.

“Yeah, kinda was. I went by myself, didn’t plan at all. Just drove like I knew what I was doing. It stopped being fun like three days in. I was lonely. But I just kept going.”

“Why did you go alone?”

She shrugged.

“I’m kind of used to doing things on my own. And I guess I knew it was an awful idea. I wasn’t gonna drag anyone else down with me.”

How very considerate of her. How very _her_.

“Where were you headed?”

“Nowhere, really. I just drove for about a week.”

“Every day for a week?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s impressive, actually. I’ve seen your car.”

“No, different car,” she laughed with a sniffle. “Worse car. It didn’t survive the ditch I drove it into when some arsehole in a Hummer ran me off the road. I don’t know why I thought it was road trip material. I guess I didn’t think at all. Bloody typical.”

That was twice now she’d made him furious at a complete stranger. He forced down the sudden wave of anger, not wanting his voice to sound harsh when he asked her, “Is that how you got the scar?”

“Oh, no, different car accident,” she sighed, slumping a little deeper as if to make herself smaller. “The car was scrap material, but I was fine. Not even a scratch.”

“Darling, will you please stop getting into car accidents?” he pleaded, half-joking, half completely dead fucking serious.

She gave him a flickering candlelight smile he knew was meant to soothe him. “I’ve only been in two so far, and I wasn’t driving the other time. It’s…”

She sucked her lip in between her teeth and fell silent for a few seconds.

“Oh _God_ ,” she groaned quite suddenly, burying her face in the palm of her hand. “I’m gonna sound like such a walking tragedy, I swear. I don’t wanna dump everything on you right now.”

“I can take it, you know.”

He reached out to wrap his fingers around her wrist. She let him guide her hand away from her face as he rubbed circles on her skin with his thumb.

“The scar you felt, I got that when I was twelve,” she said quietly. “My dad was driving. It was how my mother died.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw the wind blow a bright green errant oak leaf flat against the windowpane. It had startled him, he supposed, but an eighteen-wheeler hurtling towards them wouldn’t have been enough to draw his eyes away from her in that moment. He opened his mouth, but no words came out.

“It’s alright,” she said, wrapping her fingers around his thumb. “I know it sounds terrible, but I barely remember that day.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Always bums people out, mentioning it.”

“Belle, that shouldn’t be a concern. Not with me.”

“Yeah. I know.”

She squeezed his hand, then took her hand back to play with the zipper on the left sleeve of her jacket.

“Your father, he must have… When he found out you’d crashed, I mean, he must have been beside himself.”

“That’s why I never told him,” she replied with a nod and a smile. “If he knew, he would never have left. He missed home so much, I didn’t want him to stay because of me. Like, what was he even gonna do? Drive me everywhere? Cause that…”

Her words choked her for a moment, a sound like a knife straight to his heart. She sighed, regrouped, and carried on.

“I told my dad the car just wouldn’t start anymore, and he believed me, cause he never liked that thing. He bought me a plane ticket back. I’d gotten so far behind in all of my classes, and honestly, even though the accident was no big deal, it messed me up more than I thought it did.”

“You didn’t get back on track.”

“I didn’t. It was pretty much hopeless. I dropped out at the end of the semester. Panicked a bit cause of the loans, but then I started working retail and I didn’t actually hate it. With the reviews and everything, getting my own little place, I was alright. I wasn’t unhappy.”

She stared ahead with an absent smile. A slowly passing car cast a bright light on her face, lighting up the evidence of her tears earlier. Black smears, a reddish tint to the white of her eyes.

“Do you want to go back and finish?”

“I don’t think so. Do you think I should?”

“If it would make you happy.”

She smiled warmly at him. “I don’t miss it.”

“Then there’s your answer.”

She sniffed and kept up that glowing smile, warming his heart so intensely he almost thought his drenched shirt might dry in seconds if she kept it up.

“Thank you.”

“What for?”

“Being perfect.”

“Oh, Belle,” he growled. “Belle, I’m not. Please just take it from me and don’t make me provide the evidence. You’d go off me in a second.”

She giggled, shook her head again. She didn’t even believe him, sweet thing. He would have to show her his skeletons soon. It was unfair not to.

“Maybe not literally perfect, but you’re so… I mean, you look at me like you think _I’m_ perfect. And ever since I met you, you’ve only tried to make me feel good about myself, and it felt great back when I first met you, when I was still feeling alright. But then I let everything get to me, and I started coming up with reasons why I couldn’t possibly be the person you think I am. It spiraled, I guess.”

Gold was glad he hadn’t interrupted to confirm that indeed, he thought her perfect. But had he done something wrong, then? Should he have done anything differently? He didn’t understand.

“I… I’m sorry. I never meant to put any sort of pressure on you.”

Her eyes were wide now, her embarrassed grin gone. She was getting upset again, and Gold could barely keep up.

“And now you’re apologizing for trying to make me feel good about myself! How sweet are you? And you’re… you’re… God, you’re just everything I’m not. You’re stable, and you’re mature, and you know what you’re doing in life. You’ve got the shop, and you don’t even _need_ the shop to get by.”

“Now, wait. You’re comparing apples to an old shriveled orange, Belle.”

But it seemed he wasn’t getting to her. Brow furrowed, counting on her fingers, Belle babbled on, “You’ve got a bloody cabin, and you’ve been places, and you never have to worry about money, and your wife can take your son to Europe no problem -”

“My _ex-wife_ , darling,” he interrupted firmly, “is at least a dozen years older than you, and she has her demons. You don’t want to be her.”

That seemed to get her attention at last. Startled her, even. Softer now, he added, “I’m not some big scary test you can fail,” before she could go off again.

“No, you’re the book. That’s what I’m trying to say.”

Oh. He smiled rather sheepishly, the little winged bugs in his belly making quite the fuss.

“That’s why I’m such a bloody mess,” she continued, her voice deeper and with a hint of bitter laughter in it, a few leftover tears making her eyes glint prettily. “I know I’m being ridiculous, and I’m usually never this insecure, but then it’s never been this important either. This… This isn’t just you and I. And that scares me a little more than I let on.”

“You mean Neal.”

She confirmed with a nod and looked away. Hoping quite desperately that she didn’t mean for it to sound as if she was having second thoughts about getting involved with a single father, he told her, “I thought we went over this, Belle. If there’s any shock, it’ll wear off, but he’s my son and I know him. He’ll like you just fine.”

“I trust you to know that, I really do. But then, what if he really doesn’t hate me? What if we meet, a-and… and what if we get along, and for some reason it goes wrong somewhere down the line? What if we don’t…”

He was grateful when she stopped her trembling voice there, pressing her lips together in a thin line. It took him a few seconds to read her open book of a face, but then he began to understand her concern.

“He’s almost seventeen. He’s practically off to college. You wouldn’t be breaking two hearts.”

She stared at him with her mouth slightly open, big wet eyes fluttering all over his face in wonder. Another car passed them slowly, the headlights lighting up her face perfectly, and Gold felt suddenly flustered by her beauty. Running makeup and all.

“I kind of put that hypothetical break-up all on you, didn’t I?” he laughed nervously, looking down at his fumbling fingers in his lap. “Sorry. It’ll probably have been me being an idiot if it comes to that.”

It was her turn to reach out for his jittery hands now, both of hers covering only one of his.

“I don’t want to break your heart,” she murmured.

Unable to resist, he pulled her roughly into his arms before that kind face made him tell her that he would kill for her. It was not a thing, Gold knew, that one said when it was probably not an exaggeration.

She sniffed and laughed softly in his hair, mumbling, “You’re the sappiest person I’ve ever met, did you know that?”

“That’s completely and utterly your doing, and any time you feel ready to apologize for that, my dear, I’ll be waiting.”

She playfully pushed him away, beaming her radiant grin at him. She didn’t look so sad anymore. Just tired.

“I think I’ll tell Neal I’ve been seeing someone when I get back tonight, if that’s alright with you,” he said. “I should have done that ages ago. I can imagine the secrecy didn’t exactly help with how you were feeling all this time.”

“Yeah. I think I’d feel much better if he at least knew that.”

He smiled and touched her cheek for a moment.

“Then that’s what I’ll do.”

“Are you gonna tell him everything about me?” she asked him, her voice a little fragile all of the sudden.

“Would you like me to?”

She bit her lip for a while, seemingly in thought. Then she shrugged and said, “Maybe not everything.”

“Not everything, then. And I could talk to Sidney tomorrow, find out what the hold-up is. Or if he has anything else, or -”

“No no no!” she blurted, holding up her hand as if to stop him dead in his tracks.

“But Belle -”

“Don’t! Seriously. Don’t do that. I know you mean well, but I don’t want you talking to Sidney for me. I can handle it. It’s gonna be fine. Please.”

Oh, but it wasn’t easy, rolling over for her on this matter. It would be no bother at all to drop by the man’s office and at least speed things up a bit. But her stare was fierce now, and his spine was melting under it like Neal’s chocolate treats on the dashboard that one time in August when he was eight. Licking his dry lips, Gold bowed his head in capitulation.

“Alright. I won’t. Just Neal then. Tonight.”

“You don’t have to do it tonight.”

“But you’d feel better?”

“Yeah, but -”

“Tonight, then, if he’s up. I’ll call you after.”

“Alright,” she said, sliding a little closer, pushing her way up under his arm like a needlessly demanding kitten. He would have pulled her half onto his lap anyway. “Thank you.”

He kissed her hair, still wet but drying, and nearly died of satisfaction when she rested her head on his shoulder. It felt nice there. She should put it there more often.

“Sorry about the drama.”

“Don’t you apologize for a single thing. I’m happy you’ve told me everything.”

“Me too.”

Outside, the wind made the trees sway. The rain was downright biblical at that point. Someone somewhere was probably out looking for two of every animal.

“This is pretty romantic,” sighed Belle after a few moments of nothing but rain and soft music coming from the speakers in front. “And it’s very roomy back here. You know, in different circumstances, if you didn’t have to get back to Neal…”

She trailed off but let a playful poke in his side finish the sentence for her, making him squirm and bite his tongue to kill that unmanly giggle he knew she was trying to lure out of him.

“Really?” he laughed darkly. “Would you? Not too risky?”

“I’m kind of over being scared for now.” With a start, probably provoked by his theatrical smirk, she added, “Not right now, obviously! I probably look like a depressed panda and I’ve got a headache from crying.”

“Of course, love.”

“I’ve felt sexier. And less… snotty.”

“Yeah. Tissues in the glove compartment if you’re done with my shirt,” he teased, returning her sharp poke to make her writhe and giggle a little bit.

He knew that if he wanted to catch Neal before he went to bed, Gold would have to drop her off at her studio soon. But then again, a Saturday night with a night owl for a son… He could probably stay there in her warmth, in his car, on this road cutting through these woods in the pouring rain, just a little while longer.

“I’ve missed you,” she said, sending his heart aflutter again.

“I’ve missed you too.”

It struck him then, quite suddenly, that he hadn’t kissed her in days. What torture. How pointless. A single finger under her chin, he lifted her head a bit and kissed those lips he’d missed so incredibly much. _I love you_ , he thought, wondering if she felt it at all. Even a little.


	11. Walnut Cake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gold has an important little chat with Neal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you. <3

Gold knew Neal was still up when he opened the front door and came in from the rain. All of the lights downstairs were off, but he could still hear his gloomy music coming from his room. He took a deep breath to steel himself for potential disaster, then made his way up the creaking stairs. His door was closed, but a dim light escaped from under it, making the floorboards glow yellow. He knocked loudly enough to sound over the music, softly enough not to startle him.

“Yeah?”

“Only me. I’m back. Can I come in?”

The response was mumbled, but it definitely sounded like a semi-reluctant okay. That was probably as good as it was going to get. Gold opened the door slowly and saw Neal sitting at his desk in curls of flowery incense, swiftly turning over a piece of paper and covering it with a book for good measure. He hadn’t shown him one of his drawings since he was about ten, but all of the masterpieces entrusted to him were in his desk drawer in his study. Safe underneath a newspaper clipping with a phone number and a heart scribbled on it.

“What’s up?”

Suddenly fearful, Gold stalled, “That incense, what is that?”

Neal grabbed a wrapper from the edge of his desk and gave it a quick look before throwing it into the waste basket.

“Jasmine.”

“Ah. ’s Nice, that.”

“If you say so. How did it go?”

Neal was clearly both impatient and skeptical, and while that didn’t exactly soothe his nerves, it did cement his decision to tell him then. Delaying the matter would just make it worse, he knew. And that knowledge, oddly enough, was rather calming after all.

“Actually, I was wondering if we could have a talk. There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. Is now a good time?”

“I guess.”

Rubbing his sweaty palms on his trousers, Gold sat down on the edge of his son’s bed. Black sheets, black pillowcase. Up above his desk, a large Jolly Roger hung nailed to the wall, moving a little bit in the breeze coming in through the cracked open window. Gold smiled. Hadn’t seen that thing in a while. He used to tie it around Neal’s shoulders like a cape and watch him run around the house pretending to be some sort of flying pirate. Where did they get that thing? A gift shop somewhere, yes, but where?

The squeak of a swiveling desk chair as Neal turned to face him pulled him out of his memories.

“Dad, could you just tell me who died already?”

“No-one died.”

Except his courage, perhaps, just then. He should have had a glass of water before he came up here. His tongue was like a stretch of sandpaper against the roof of his mouth. Slowly, Gold forced the words out.

“I, uh,” he began, reaching for the record player to turn down the volume a bit. “I’ve been wanting to tell you that I… I’ve been seeing someone.”

Neal stared at him, his face completely illegible. Why wasn’t he speaking? Where was the outburst? The mocking laughter? The anger? Where was anything at all?

“What, like a shrink?”

“No,” Gold sighed, clenching his eyes shut and squeezing the bridge of his nose. “A woman.”

“Yeah, that hasn’t been mutually exclusive for a while now.”

“Neal, please,” he pleaded, close to despair. “I’m serious. I’ve been seeing a woman. Romantically.”

Ah, there it was. The slack mouth, the growing horror visible in his big eyes. Perhaps the R-word had pushed things over the edge.

“You’re serious?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

“Someone’s dating you?”

What the hell was that phrasing supposed to imply? No, rhetorical question, of course. He knew what it implied, and as he swallowed a knot in his throat and gave it some thought, Gold came to the conclusion that actually, he wasn’t offended in the least. For him to let someone traipse past his bulwarks was unlikely enough, but for someone to _want to_ , well, that was downright improbable. Neal knew him well enough to know that.

“Yes,” he croaked. “Yes, someone’s - … I’ve been dating someone.”

The surprise on his son’s face hardened into another illegible look for a few moments of perturbing silence. Finally, he mumbled a monotonous, “You didn’t tell me you wanted to start dating again,” and then he swiveled his chair back towards his desk. Pen in between his fingers, he began to scribble on a blank piece of paper.

“I didn’t set out to,” he explained carefully, eyes fixed to his pen as it scratched patterns onto the paper. “I didn’t think I’d ever want to again, but she just… It just happened. Son, believe me, I’m as surprised as you are.”

Waiting for the verdict, Gold spotted a quick shake of his shoulders. He assumed it was a silent laugh, of the bitter sort in all likelihood. Perhaps he shouldn’t have asked him to believe him so shortly after admitting to a couple of months of bald-faced deception.

“How long?” he asked, eyes still fixed to the paper in front of him.

“We met two months ago, maybe two and a half. Something like that. I know I should have told you sooner, but you were having your own -”

A terse, “Don’t use me as an excuse,” cut him off and shocked him into silence. Only when Neal set his pen to paper and resumed scribbling could he move again.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, looking down at his shoes. “I don’t like lying to you.”

“But you’ll do it anyway.”

“I really am sorry. I just wasn’t sure when the right time was, and I guess I… I got scared.”

He heard the pen hitting the wood of the desk in a sudden clatter and looked up to catch a fierce glare.

“So every time you went out for some random reason, you were lying?” he asked, his voice growing in volume.

“No, not every time. We mostly… We’ve mostly been meeting during the day so far.”

The eruption he could hear building up in Neal's voice since he made his confession never came. Instead, he shrugged and turned away from him again, mumbling, “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

Gold sat up a little straighter. He wanted to walk over and put his hand on his shoulder, but the boy was guarding his drawing and his face with his arm and his elbow on the desk, his hand in his thick, messy hair. He knew not to. He stayed put on the edge of the bed.

“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. Can I tell you about her?”

“I guess.”

Gold swallowed some of that tension to make place for a touch of fledgling tentative relief, because that was a good sign, was it not?

“Belle. That's her name. She writes. She works for the paper, sort of. Freelance, I mean. And she’s Australian.”

“Australian?”

Gold smiled.

“Yeah. I know. She’s been here a while. She, ehm… She likes to read, and…”

And this was incredibly difficult. He really should have gone over this in the car at least, but ideally and _impossibly_ , he should have gone over it weeks before. He couldn’t say how they met just yet, because he didn’t think it wise to drop the words ‘Hot Topic’ into the conversation when it was this fragile. He couldn’t tell him about all the little things he loved about her, like how expressive she was, and how fun it was to make her laugh, because he knew Neal would surely strain his eyeballs rolling them back in his skull if he did.

“She’s very kind,” he continued, nodding to himself, “and clever, and she makes me laugh. And she, uh…”

He couldn’t stop thinking of things he couldn’t say. She wasn’t half his age exactly, but she looked as if she was, and he knew that Neal would think her too young for him anyway, so he definitely couldn’t tell him her age. She was somewhat responsible for the apparent insult that was that Evanescence CD, an interesting little fact no doubt, but would only lead to the Hot Topic revelation, which news Belle had assured him would not be received well. They shared a love of excessive eyeliner and pitch-black nail polish, but that was another thing he probably couldn’t reveal at the moment. So what else?

“She’s a great person,” he continued, deciding that that just about summed it up. “A-And your feelings on this are important to me. More than… More than anything else. You’re my number one priority, and you always will be. You know that, yeah?”

“Did you go see her just now?” Neal asked, ignoring his question and giving him a guarded look over his shoulder.

“Yeah.”

“You looked worried when you left.”

He’d expected another comment about his mendacious ways, certainly not this slightly veiled concern. It helped slow his heartbeat, helped make breathing easier.

“She’s been having a bit of a rough time. We needed to talk. A few days ago, I… kind of put my foot in it.”

“ _That_ part doesn’t surprise me.”

It was comforting, actually, that little jab right there. It heartened him just enough to ask, “Are you alright? How do you feel about this?”

In the silence that followed, the tone arm on the record player bumped into the label of the record that had been playing quietly all the while. With Morrissey’s plaintive wailing gone, the only constant left was the rain.

“You’re not gonna start inviting her over now, right?”

“No, not right away. Of course not. Not if you’d mind.”

“It would be awkward. Not in the mood for awkward.”

“That’s alright,” assured Gold. “We don’t have to do that just yet. Only when you’re ready. Whenever that is. Your call.”

“Fine.”

“Alright, then I suppose, uh… I suppose I’ll leave you to it,” he said, stumbling over his words just a little bit as he pushed himself up from the bed. He’d made it to the doorway before Neal called out.

“Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“She alright now?” he asked, glancing over.

Gold could still picture her red face, red eyes, brave smile as he left her on her doorstep. Walking away from her then was like struggling against a giant rubber band around his waist, and he was still waiting for it to snap. It probably wouldn’t tonight.

“Yeah, she’s alright.”

“Go back if you need to.”

“Oh. Thank you. I’ll… I was going to give her a call either way. I’ll see how she’s holding up.”

Neal gave him a quick nod and returned his attention to his scribbles. Time to leave. It had gone about as well as it could have, perhaps better than he had dared expect, and he didn’t want to stay a second longer and risk it.

Sat at the kitchen table, staring out of his rain-streaked window, Gold waited for Belle to pick up her phone. It was late, but not that late, and he knew she would still be awake. Her voice on the other end made him smile.

“Hey!”

“Hey. Did I wake you?”

“No, I was just reading. Is everything alright?”

 _Did you tell him? How did he take it?_ was what he heard underneath that layer of forced cheer in her voice. 

“Everything’s fine. I just wanted to tell you that I told Neal about us. Things were a bit tense at first, but I think he’s handling it well.”

A beat of silence, and then a soft, “Sure?” A single fragile word in a fragile voice.

“Yeah, love. He’ll need some time to really process it, but there were some good signs, I think.”

The lack of shouting was one of them. And he hadn’t actually run out of the house in shrieking horror, which Gold now realized had been a distinct possibility. And he seemed worried about her too, but that part didn’t surprise him so much, knowing how sensitive he was, even to the plight of complete strangers.

“How much did you tell?”

“Not everything. I told him your name and that you’re from Australia. That you write for the paper and you like to read. Tried to keep the gushing to a minimum, but there might have been a bit of it. Was that alright?”

“Yeah,” she sighed with a soft laugh of relief. “Yeah, that’s fine. Thank you. For doing that. And for calling me.”

“I should have told him a while ago.”

“It’s alright. New territory for both of us.”

He didn’t know what to say, so he listened to her breathing, and for a moment, he’d never felt closer to her. Then, without warning, that rubber band around his waist gave another sharp pull. God, he’d missed her. He’d missed her so much, and all he wanted was to touch her.

“I could come over,” he said quite suddenly. “You know, now that he knows. I could come over and stay.”

“Yeah?”

He heard a smile in her voice.

“It killed me to leave you there,” he confessed.

“I wasn’t nearly through with you,” she told him in a tone full of promise that made him shiver. Hurriedly she added, “I mean, if you’re sure Neal wouldn’t mind…”

“I don’t think so. He loves having the house to himself. I’ll ask.”

He promised to text either way, and then they said their goodbyes. Back up the stairs he went. Not wanting to bother him any more than he already had, he knocked on the door and called out.

“Neal? Is it alright if I go see her? Might not be back in time to fix you breakfast.”

“I can fry an egg,” came the reply. “It’s not that hard.”

“Alright then,” he replied, smiling at the closed door. “I’ll leave a note when I get back.”

As he turned, the door creaked open, bathing the darkened hallway with warm yellow light and letting a cloud of sweet incense escape and envelop him.

“Dad, wait.”

“Yeah?”

“Take the rest of the cake with you.”

He didn’t know what he’d expected to hear, but that was certainly not it. Confused, Gold blinked against the light.

“The cake? I made that for you. You always -”

“End up eating all of it cause you think I want to, when really what it is is I don’t want to hurt your feelings. I ate like half of it. Take it and go.”

Gold smiled. _Fuck off_ was what he really wanted to say; he could hear it in his voice. When Neal cursed, sometimes his long suppressed, almost forgotten Scottish accent came out. When he was right on the cusp of it too, apparently.

“Does Emma like cake?” he teased daringly, raising an eyebrow.

“You’re the worst,” he sighed, closing the door in his face, but not before Gold could spot the embarrassed little smile he was fighting. “And the cake was kinda dry.”

…

He arrived at her apartment a little while later. Before he could even undo his seatbelt, the passenger door was opened and in from out of the pouring rain crawled a beaming Belle in a black hooded sweatshirt with the sleeves pushed up. She would make the most adorable carjacker, he thought quietly to himself. He would willingly crawl into the trunk and knock himself over the head with a tire iron if she asked him to.

“Hello. What’s the plan?” he asked, right before her warm hands grabbed his face and she answered that question by pushing her plush mouth firmly against his.

He purred appreciatively, reaching up and taking down her hood so he could sink his fingers in her soft, thick hair, but it was up in a bun now. He would just touch her neck, then. Her neck was soft too, and he knew that if he touched it lightly enough, she would shiver and giggle - and there it was, the laughter against his lips and the goosebumps under his fingertips. God, but he’d missed her. He had ached for her. This bloody car was too bloody big and the seatbelt was still cutting into his chest and he couldn’t get any closer. When she broke the kiss, he all but whined for contact.

“Bad idea?” she asked, a grin of tentative mischief playing with the corners of her mouth.

“Objectively, yes,” he rasped, but he was already considering the logistics, already itching to push her skirt up her thighs, already lost.

“Subjectively?”

“Give me a moment. I’ll park in the back.”

For the second time that evening, they braved the rain to crawl into the back of his car together, where she scooted close and draped her arms over his shoulders to kiss him. Soft, rainy wet lips. She tasted of coffee. No plans for sleep soon, evidently. Good.

“Police never come here anyway,” she murmured against his mouth.

“They ought to.”

She grinned and put her hands on his thighs to dig in her fingertips just firmly enough to make him crumble utterly. With a growl, he grabbed her by the waist and dragged her into his lap.

“So, just to be clear, this is a yes to sex in your car, yeah?” she asked, eyebrows raised and hopeful.

Nothing back here but a broken couch and a collapsed coffee table against the side of her building, and even if someone walked past, which was unlikely, it would not have been easy to make anything out in this darkness, through the rain streaming down the windows and the condensation they were sure to conjure up. Most importantly: he wanted her so badly it made his heart hurt. It would never have been a no.

“Definitely yes.”

He latched onto her neck, kissing whatever skin he could reach. Hands splayed flat against her back, he pulled her body flush against his, only for something to poke him sharply in the stomach and make him hiss.

“Sorry,” she breathed, reaching into the pouch of her hoodie to adjust whatever that was. “Keys, probably.”

“Am I allowed to make a marsupial joke?”

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” she said, a threat rather enfeebled by the giggle that followed it.

“What on earth are you keeping in there, anyway?”

“Keys,” she said, taking them out and dropping it on the seat, “phone in case you called to tell me you’d be late or couldn’t make it, some loose change from ages ago, and,” she paused to put the phone and the coins with her keys and then fished out a shiny silver packet, grinning ear to ear, “- condom.”

He made one attempt to lay her down on the seat, but after a few kisses, she simply surged up again and reclaimed her rightful throne, i.e. his lap. Gold grinned into their kiss. He didn’t mind it exactly. It was rather cute, actually, how she seemed to be weighted at the bottom. Perhaps one day, he would ask. Tonight, he would let her devour him whichever way she liked.

She licked his neck, scraped her teeth against his jaw, bit his lip and kept her fingers busy with his belt buckle. They were nothing more than a flurried mess of clumsy limbs until his trousers were down over his hips and her panties dangled from her left ankle, and then once he was inside of her, everything slowed down.

Breathless and in awe, he could do nothing but marvel at her beauty as she moved in his lap. Pale thighs either side of him, his cold hands free to roam every inch of them. Her fingers tangled in his hair, forehead pressed against his and her mesmerizing eyes staring deep into his own. He could barely believe her. She was more than unlikely. She was a rarity. A lone shooting star spotted in between the Perseids and the Leonids, there in his lap, wanting to make him come.

It was a perfect, delicious hell, trying not to come before her. He knew where to touch her now - he was a fast learner and she was very vocal - but it had been so long, and she was moaning and breathing in his ear, touching his lips with her fingertips, driving him to madness so expertly, that when she came, clawing at his shoulders and drowning a hoarse cry against his shoulder, it was not a second too soon. He threw his head back and came so hard he couldn’t even make a sound if he’d wanted to.

She lay collapsed on top of him after, a moment of trust and surrender he adored above all others. Belle liked to climb and conquer him like a mountain, but then she melted in his arms completely, soft and content as he kissed her hair and ran his hands up and down her sides, ribcage expanding and shrinking with every breath. A precious peaceful moment that came before the slight awkwardness of dressing and cleanup, though that had its charms too. They did awkward well, him and her.

“Glove compartment,” he just about managed as she lifted herself off him with great effort. “Tissues.”

“Where’ve your verbs gone?” she breathed with a hint of a giggle in her voice.

He watched with a smile as she clambered over the seat and reached out to hold on to her ankle, making sure she didn’t tumble right over.

“Hey, what’s this?”

She did not come back with just the tissues (which by the bye, he had purchased and stashed in the glove compartment after she fell and scraped her knee); she held a round tin box in one hand, the tissues in the other. He took the latter and nodded towards the former, answering, “Walnut cake.”

“Walnut cake?” she parroted, her face scrunched up in confusion.

“I made it for Neal this afternoon. When I left earlier, he told me to take it with me.”

She settled next to him again, holding the box in her lap as if it contained a great treasure.

“Why would he…”

Her voice trailed off, and she looked up to give him an adorable questioning look.

“I mentioned you’ve been having a bit of a rough time, and that I hadn’t exactly been helping matters much.”

Her eyes were huge. Even in this darkness, they were the bluest thing on this earth, surely. Surely nothing could be bluer than that.

“He… He thought you should give me the cake?”

“He also said it was dry, so make of that what you will,” he joked, wiggling his eyebrows.

“That’s so sweet,” she laughed. She held on to the box a little tighter, until her fingertips turned pale. “I feel bad now. Please tell me he always sits in the front seat.”

“Always.”

“Thank God,” she sighed dramatically, bursting into laughter when she caught his devilish smirk.

She doubled over, giggling, clutching the box to her chest, and Gold rubbed her back, knowing that she was just laughing out the tension. When she looked up again, Gold wondered whether that tear in the corner of her eye was because of her laughter or something else.

“I’ve got tea to go with that dry cake,” she offered, giving him a sweet lopsided smile.

“Tea sounds lovely.”

Safe inside, she dried his hair with a fluffy white towel and then dried her legs with it after. Then she ditched her skirt for pajama pants - the polka dotted ones that were too big on her and dragged on the floor around her ankles - and her wet sweatshirt for one of her sleeping t-shirts. As she fluttered about her tiny kitchen area for mugs and tea and sugar and spoons, Gold, seated at her equally tiny table, took her in.

“What are you smiling about?” she asked, peeping at him over her shoulder.

He shrugged and let his smile transform into a grin. “You’re adorable.”

Was that a budding blush he spied? Did he still make her blush? That was completely brilliant.

“You obviously have no idea how cute _you_ look right now,” she fired back.

Suddenly he realized that as he was leaning on the table, he had circled the cake tin with his arms. His hair was probably rather a fluffy mess too, after that clumsy drying. He straightened himself and put on a playful scowl to compensate. Belle merely rolled her eyes at his posturing and carried on.

“You know, after you left, I called Jefferson and let him know we talked things out.”

She brought over two plates, two forks and a knife for the cake, then went back for the tea.

“That’s good. It was good of him to call. I’m very grateful for that. He seemed… invested.”

“Well, he cares about me,” said Belle, sighing as she sat down opposite him and slid him his mug. Filled to the brim. “And he knows how much you mean to me.”

She said that last bit rather quietly, looking down at her own tea with a little smile. He meant something to her. God, how that made him feel warm inside.

“I’m glad he was there for you,” Gold said, opening the tin box to fix Belle a generous slice of cake. “He seems like a good friend.”

“Yeah. He hates being away from Grace, but he went out of his way to find someone to babysit at the last minute just so we could talk.”

“Touch of separation anxiety, aye?” he asked, grinning to himself as he cut off a smaller piece of cake for himself.

Belle nodded and deepened her voice, muttering, “Really, it used to be so much worse. Her first sleepover was _incredibly_ dramatic.”

“Oh?”

“For him,” Belle clarified. “Grace was fine. He picked her up at six in the morning.”

As he tasted his scalding hot tea, Gold thought back to when he first met Jefferson in his shop. There was no-one else in that picture he’d shown him, was there? Just him and his little daughter, side by side, hand in hand, impeccably dressed. He wondered what had happened, but wasn’t sure if he could ask.

“Well,” he sighed, sitting back in his chair. “I’d laugh, but I was a wreck when I dropped Neal off for his first sleepover.”

“Aw. Were you really?”

He nodded and watched as she lifted a huge piece of his walnut cake to her smiling lips. He waited for her judgement on the cake (Was it dry?) but there came none.

“How did it go, earlier?” she asked once she’d swallowed her first mouthful of cake. “I know you said he was fine, but…”

“Well, like I said, he was a little upset I kept it from him for so long.”

“But that was it? He doesn’t mind that you’re dating again?”

“I don’t think so. He didn’t… Well, he didn’t seem upset about that. I’ll ask again soon.”

She nodded, slurped her tea in silence for a moment.

“Neal seems like such a sweet kid.”

Gold poked at his cake with his fork and smiled.

“Oh, but he has teeth. He can be firm with me too. And _so_ right. I almost felt the need to ground myself earlier.”

She cocked her head to the side quizzically. “Firm?”

“As if _he’s_ the parent,” he explained. “If he knows I’m in the wrong, he’ll cut me down to size real quick, no hesitation.”

Belle raised her eyebrows and grinned. “I get the feeling that’s a good thing,” she said, taking another bite of cake.

He shrugged, gave her a coy smirk. “Mostly always. It’s a miracle he’s turning out so well, considering.”

“Considering what?”

“Considering me.”

She frowned and put her fork down on her plate. Oh dear. What had he just said? Nothing too awful, he hoped.

“How is that a miracle at all? I bet you he’s only as sweet as you are.”

God, he wished she would stop saying such nice things about him when he didn’t deserve to hear them. He didn’t want to lift those rose colored glasses of hers. They made her smile so prettily.

“Belle,” he started, shaking his head. “Belle, that’s just with you. You know that. You’ve seen the looks I get from Granny and the others. It’s not as if I haven’t given them cause to think of me the way they do.”

She lifted her chin a little bit, gently defiant, and replied, “But you’re like that with Neal. Aren’t you? Why wouldn’t he have gotten that sweetness from you?”

_Oh._

He couldn’t immediately think of a counterargument, and when he saw her lips stretch into a pleased smile, Gold knew Belle had sensed victory. He felt his cheeks grow warm, and he decided to focus on the cake instead. 

“Is the cake dry?” he asked, noticing that his mouth definitely was.

“It’s not dry at all. It’s simply delicious. Did he really say it was?”

“Yeah. But he said it right after I teased him about Emma, so…”

She giggled. “Aha.”

When both the tea and the cake were gone, the pair of them ended up on her couch again, bellies filled, lips smiling. It was late, but he wasn’t tired yet. Belle didn’t seem as tired as she looked when he saw her at the bar, either. Her eyes were no longer red; they were bright and keen, and they sought out his and kept them captive. She was gearing up to ask him something. He could see. There was always a little glint, a twinkle, a spark in her eyes. Beautiful little tells. She had her legs pulled up on the couch and she’d slipped her toes under his thigh, something he never would have imagined would please him so immensely. Gold poked her knee thinking it might get the interrogation started so they could get it over with. Belle grinned and wiggled her toes.

“You know,” she started, mischief and curiosity in her voice, “sometimes you talk about yourself like you’re some jerk who’s been following you around all your life, just randomly ruining things for you.”

Oh dear. Actually, that was rather an apt mental image she’d come up with there. He fought down a smirk and sighed, “Do I?” putting his hand on her knee to give it a squeeze.

“Mhm. So come on. Out with it.”

“Out with what, dear?” he teased.

“Out with whatever!” she whined, tapping the back of his hand on her knee in a cute little pretend slap. “Just tell me something. I know you want to.”

Perhaps. He knew that it wasn’t fair to let her think that he had done no wrong in his life. A petulant voice in the back of his skull told him to keep it to himself and let her think whatever she wanted of him if all she could think was nice things, but tonight, he was a braver man than that. It was just something he had learned over the years, that he was only ever at his best when he cared for someone. And with Belle, somehow, it had gone far past caring. Lightyears past.

“It’s not pretty,” he warned.

“That’s the point.”

“Nor legal.”

A quick, childish shrug and her teeth catching her bottom lip pulled him over the edge. She was entirely too charming to deny. How nice it was to see her this confident again. So assured that she could handle it - whatever _it_ turned out to be.

So with the rain still tapping the window by the bed and her downstairs neighbor’s music for accompaniment, Gold told her about his father, the grifter and dreadful gambler, who had found a willing accomplice in him from the moment he was old enough to carry around a toolbox and not look too ridiculous doing it. He told her about the building scams that brought in the most money, and Belle listened intently to his every word, her pretty brow furrowed in concern.

His father would knock on some poor sod’s door and offer his services as a contractor. That, Gold made sure to tell a completely rapt Belle, was a warning sign she herself would do well to remember in the future. His father might claim to have spotted a structural problem as he passed the house, or he might ask if perchance the occupants were interested in renovating their kitchen, or building a conservatory out in the garden, or knocking through a wall and expanding the lounge - just anything that might stick. And it did stick more often than one might expect, with the right targets. He would badger an advance payment out of them, do a bit of work, maybe come up with a reason to ask for more money after a while ( _“Cheapest way would be to knock through that wall over there, but it’s a support wall, mate!”_ ) until he’d had his fill.

And then he left. Disappeared, never to be seen or heard from again, on to the next easy target in a dodgy white van with a stack of license plates in the back. Lonely widows, elderly couples, anyone who didn’t think twice. He left behind half torn out kitchens, faulty wiring and plumbing - a mess, in short. The money involved was substantial, but it had to be. His father had a habit to feed, and very little patience to speak of.

Gold didn’t remember when exactly it was that he gave up the petty scams for the building schemes. He must have been around seven or eight when his father started picking him up from his great aunt’s after school in plaster and paint stained overalls. He always grabbed him under the arms, lifted him up, spun him around, kissed his cheek and laughed when his prickly beard made him squirm in his arms.

“You alright?”

Belle’s gentle voice and a wriggle of her toes saved him from the mire of his thoughts. Gold snapped his head up to smile at her.

“Yeah, was just thinking. Where was I?”

“You just explained the building scam.”

“Oh. Alright, well,” he started with a sigh. “He started taking me along after school when I got old enough, as an apprentice of sorts. This was the very early seventies, late sixties, Scotland, you have to understand. No-one ever really batted an eye. I felt so big and important to be working with my dad at first. It felt brilliant. And it took me a while to realize that what we were doing was…”

He paused, because Belle had begun to shift on the couch. She moved to sit on her knees, scooting a little closer so that her knees touched his thigh. He appreciated that bit of warmth. Wondered if she would stay this close.

“Go on.”

“I remember he sat me down one night. I’d started crying, cause the elderly couple we’d just picked out to be our next target were so nice. I was thirteen, I think, and he gave me my first beer that night and told me how proud he was to work with his son. Told me not to cry.”

That beer tasted like absolute shit, but he had made sure not to show it. He wished he hadn’t looked up at Belle; she watched him with such kindness in her eyes. It made it difficult to carry on telling. Difficult, but not impossible, sadly.

“So I kept going along with it. For years. For far too long, until I was sure…”

She gave the silence a moment to grow, but then she popped it as gently as she could with a murmured, “Sure of what?”

“Sure that I’d have enough money to get the law degree I wanted. I’m no angel, Belle. I never was. It was his brutish way that bothered me. The clumsiness, the unnecessary collateral damage, not to mention the risk. I preferred loopholes. Grey areas. Subtleties. I had no problem exploiting _those_ to get what I wanted in life.”

From the corner of his eye, he could see that she’d stopped nodding along as he progressed. It made his stomach clench unpleasantly for a moment, but he soldiered on.

“That’s what I told him to make sure he put away enough money towards my education. I meant to convince him it would be useful to him, but there was some truth to it.”

He paused, swallowed a sudden blockage in his throat. He’d been staring down at his hands in his lap for a while, but now he forced himself to meet her stare.

“There still is,” he confessed.

Her big blue eyes, unblinking, were still not unkind. She didn’t smile, but she didn’t look disgusted with him, and he wondered for a second if she really quite understood.

“What happened?” she asked. “When you stopped?”

“Well, I… He was getting reckless. Can’t pull the same trick for years without getting noticed, and I told him that many times, but he didn’t care.”

“Did the police notice?” she asked, looking more serene than he’d seen her in a while.

“Yeah, sort of. By the time they were beginning to sniff him out, I was long gone. I was the successful son with a law degree who’d moved to England, found a girl to marry, who was settling down. Once I was old enough to look it, I wasn’t his son on those gigs. I was his apprentice. Wore a cap. Never spoke. I was careful.”

“Did they catch him?”

“Oh, no,” he laughed darkly. “My father turned out to be quite the escape act. I was relieved about that at first. I knew if they’d caught him, they would have caught me.”

“But you just said you were careful. You don’t mean he would have dragged you down with him?”

Gold smiled to himself. It was strange, those conflicting feelings. The genuine love he had felt as a little boy in his arms and on his shoulders, and the cold hard truth he knew now. They both existed at the same time. They were both truths.

“I think he would have, whether there was a plea deal in it or not. But I would have deserved it, love. I wasn’t innocent. I’d have managed to weasel out of trouble, but I would have had it coming.”

“Not that!” she cried out with a sudden passion that almost made him jump. “Not from your father! You were a kid when he got you involved in those things!”

“I could have gotten out sooner than I did,” he countered. “I was seventeen or eighteen when I’d saved up enough to get through university. I was an adult. It was calculating of me, Belle.”

She shook her head. “He used you.”

“Didn’t I use him in return? I only managed to make it where I am in life because of what we did to those people.”

Sweet Belle. She had lines in her forehead now, and he was sure she didn’t realize, but she was pouting. Her fingertips had slipped from her own knees onto his thigh, and he knew then that she wasn’t upset with him for what he’d done. Did he really want to _make_ her? Should he push a little? Tell her outright that he did not always do the right thing in life, even now?

“I still like you.”

Oh, she was entirely too good for him. He couldn’t stop from reaching out and touching her cheek, another urge borne from the strange fear that he had been making her up all this time. She leaned into the touch a little bit, and he pulled back, licking his lips. Might as well finish the story. All of it.

“After Neal was born, we moved here. I didn’t want my father anywhere near my son, and England was not nearly far enough. I thought I might start over, here. I never wanted to do anything like what he and I did ever again.”

“When you talk about your father, you use the past tense. Has… Has he passed?”

“Yeah. Heart attack, about a decade ago.”

“What about your mother?”

“I never knew her.”

She fell into his side all of the sudden, simply toppled like a felled tree and lay her head on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, perching her little hand on his chest.

He kissed the top of her head.

“Why didn’t you go back after he passed?”

“It would just remind me of… God, well, it would remind me of everything. And Neal likes it here. It’s his home. You should hear his accent, Belle, it’s brilliant. You wouldn’t say we were related, but he can switch back and mock me whenever he wants. It’s so clever.”

She giggled, the movement on his chest making him want to laugh too. It was infectious.

“And I suppose I’ve grown to like it here too,” he admitted.

“I’m sorry you feel like you can’t go back. That must be awful.”

“Belle,” he growled, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Stop being so nice. Call me an arsehole or something. You’re killing me, love.”

“You’re human,” she said, smiling against his neck.

“So are you.”

She threw a leg over his lap, draped her arms over his shoulders and pulled herself closer to nuzzle his neck.

“I can’t even remember the last time I really felt like I could tell someone anything. Everything. I was still adjusting, the last couple of weeks.”

“Been a while for me too.”

And he still had some adjusting to do.

“Sorry about the crazy night.”

Gold’s heart ached at the realization that she still felt embarrassed about what had happened, but instead of cooing and fawning and soothing, which hadn’t worked so far, he just jerked his head back to give her a comical dumbfounded look.

“You just fucked me half to death in the back of my car. Why on earth would you apologize for that?”

Belle giggled, snorted, and buried her red face in his chest again. “Keep using that word and I might finish the job!”

“What, _death_?” he cried out, grinning victoriously when that made her giggle even harder. “That’s a little morbid.”

He loved how his stupid jokes made her collapse a little each time, like a bouncy castle deflating without warning - she even made a little sputtering sound. He laughed and she tried to slap his arm, but she couldn’t see with her face smushed up against his chest like that. She ended up slapping the couch instead and made herself laugh even harder. Gold grinned and held her close, as tight as he could, while he could.

“You’re staying over, right?” she asked when her giggles had subsided.

He would, and in the morning he would go home, and he would bake another cake so his boy could wake up and know that he had been thinking of him.

…

In her bed, in her t-shirt, in the darkness, with a soft drizzle ticking against the window still, Belle pushed up to him, nestled herself under his chin and breathed hot against his neck.

“Can you fall asleep this way?” he asked, slowly draping an arm over her waist, unsure if he should pull her close.

“Probably not.”

He took his arm back, but she wriggled even closer.

“No, I just wanna stay like this for a while,” she explained.

And so she let him hold her, and she held him, and he was suddenly overcome with love and relief and a flurry of other emotions he couldn’t quite identify. What had he told her? What had she told him? What did she know now? Exhaustion hit him like a brick, and the day’s events were fading as he inched closer to sleep. There had been despair, and phone conversations, and then relief, and then sadness and revelations and her teeth in his neck and his heart in her hands. That, he remembered. That, and a word he’d heard.

Although he was a braver man that night, the words still stuck to the roof of his mouth a little bit when he quietly said, “On the phone earlier, he… he referred to you as my girlfriend.”

Two long seconds of silence, and then, “Jefferson, d’you mean?”

“Yeah.” He paused to gather his courage and confessed, “It sounds nice. Don’t you think?”

A sudden puff of hot breath through his (her) t-shirt, and his chest was much warmer. He wasn’t sure whether it had been a laugh or a sigh, but it must have been good, because she wiggled even closer right after.

“So does boyfriend.”

That quiet, wondrous little moment stole the sleep right out of his eyes, so when she slipped out of his arms and curled up for sleep on her side of the bed, he was left on his own. Left to admire her. Left to tell himself that he could still fix it. He thought she’d fallen asleep the moment she closed her eyes, but then her hand found his under the sheets, and those warm fingers on top of his made him even more determined. It needn’t be another disaster; he wouldn’t embarrass her this time, and he didn’t have to break his promise by talking to Sidney. He didn’t need Sidney. Gold was nothing if not a resourceful man, and if it was within his power to make her happy, then he would. No shoddy wiring, no crumbling brick walls, no broken kitchen tiles. His way. He would get her that job.


	12. Tomato Soup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle's own protective instincts are stirred when Gold catches a cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. The total word count on this account passed a nice big round number I never imagined I could reach when I first started writing this stuff, and I want to thank you guys for reading said... stuff, and being nice about it. It means more than I can explain without getting embarrassing, but just take it from me that just by reading my silly little fics, you've been part of a sorely needed good thing in my life. So thank you.

Sunny Storybrooke smelled of mowed grass and the sea today, and Belle had missed it enormously. It had been a good week, if a bit dull up to about an hour ago. With the ten ton truck of stress no longer parked on her toes and various important aspects of her fate no longer up in the air, things were looking up. Before he left her on that Sunday morning about a week ago, they agreed to cool it a bit and see if there wasn’t another shoe Neal was waiting to drop, so they hadn’t seen each other for a few days. His feelings of guilt because of the sneaking around, and for sleeping over that night he told Neal about them (although Neal apparently didn’t mind the latter at all), those went unspoken in their conversations on the phone, but Belle could sense it underneath that veneer of confidence and calm, and she understood.

She didn’t mind missing him for a few days. She really _did_ miss him, but now that there was some slow, steady progress in Belle’s life, it really was enough for her to chat on the phone and know that if everything kept going well, they wouldn’t have to sneak in daytime dates in conflicting schedules anymore. She might even get to meet Neal soon, a prospect that had terrified her the past few weeks (one of the things in the back of that ten ton truck), but now she was sort of looking forward to it. She wondered if they had the same sense of humor, and if he looked more like his dad in person than in the pictures she’d seen. Of course there was still a healthy bit of fear involved. You know, just enough to stay serious about it. Just enough not to rush. But the fear level was something a little more reminiscent of a job interview for something really cool now, and less like a dentist appointment.

Her schedule was about to change completely anyway, Belle thought to herself as she pushed open the door to the pawn shop. She was already in a brilliant mood, but the sound of the little bell above the door made her even happier. Something Pavlovian, probably; nothing but good things had happened to her in there, after all. She saw him staring at his own impeccable handwriting in the large ledger on the counter with his hair falling to veil his handsome face. Until he looked up. Like always, once he realized it was her, he lit up and smiled like she was some sort of miraculous apparition. Always made her bite her lip, that look.

“Belle! You didn’t say you’d be dropping by!”

“Thought I’d surprise you! Sidney called, so I took a half day.”

“Sidney called?” he asked, brow raised. “You mean…”

Belle answered with a nod and a grin that he slowly began to mirror.

“Really?

“Mm. I start next month.”

“Oh, Belle, that’s great,” he laughed, coming around the counter with open arms. “Come here.”

She threw her arms around his neck, letting out a high-pitched squeal when he lifted her a bit until just her toes were on the floor. Giggling, she squirmed out of his embrace before he could lift her up completely. But oh - when she kissed his cheek, she found it hot to the touch. Frowning, Belle pulled back and touched the back of her hand to his forehead. Even hotter. She stared into his gorgeous dark eyes and thought they were a little red.

“What is it?” he asked, blinking confusedly as he finally let his arms fall from her waist.

“You’re burning up.”

She swept his hair from his face and put her hands on his cheeks to be sure.

“Am I?”

“Mm.”

And his voice was a little different. Hoarse, deeper, fainter. Outside the sun was shining and it was warm enough for her to venture out in just a skirt and a top. The entire town was tumbling properly into summer at last, but this one somehow went and got a cold?

“How are you feeling?” she asked, still cradling his hot face in her hands.

“Just tired,” he murmured with a slow smile. “Maybe a bit of a headache, now that you ask. Do I look awful?”

“Handsome and awful. Why’d you go and catch a cold in this weather?”

“I like being difficult,” he joked, leaning back against the counter. “But maybe it was all that rain.”

She patted his cheek once - gently of course - and decided that she would stay for a while and drown him in tea and affection. Nothing else would do. It was a strange sight to see him with his eyes a little dimmer and his shoulders slumped. It made her want to wrap herself around him completely and squeeze until that somehow, miraculously, made him feel better.

“I got just as wet as you if not worse, and I’m fine.”

“Ah, but I’m old and frail,” he sighed dramatically. “You’re young. Strong. Full of vigor.”

She rolled her eyes and went into the back room where she knew he kept a kettle and a wooden box full of tea. Only black, unfortunately, not that she knew what kind of herbal tea would be best for whatever bug he’d caught. His footsteps followed her into the room. Good boy. He needed to sit down and rest, and he couldn’t do that where she’d left him.

“I did get a sneezing customer a few days ago. He might have left me with more than just the gilt jewelry box I took off his hands.”

She smiled at him over her shoulder as she clicked the electric kettle on. “Poor baby.”

“Oh, I’ll be fine in a day or two. Probably just a bog standard flu. Tell me about the job. What’ll you be doing, exactly?”

He was just standing there, ignoring the chairs _and_ the cot, silly man.

“Well, mostly the writing Sidney already has me doing, and then some editing and stuff,” Belle said, putting a hand on his arm and nudging him towards one of the chairs at the table. “I start in two weeks. Sit.”

“Did he explain what the hold-up was?”

“Mm. My predecessor was gonna retire, but she had to postpone a couple of times. It was kind of a sensitive matter, so Sidney couldn’t really tell me as it was happening.”

“Glad it turned out he wasn’t stringing you along. Would have had to have a word.”

“I’m sure he’d be terrified if he were here to hear that,” she teased her sweet posturing wolf, slumped and bleary-eyed, defanged and dazed. He didn’t even seem to notice that she was poking fun, poor tired thing.

“At any rate, if it made you happy, you could be a professional juggler for all I care, but I know you really wanted this, and I’m -”

He sneezed into his elbow and ended his sentence abruptly, but Belle, who was trying very hard not to laugh out loud, supposed he meant to say he was happy for her, and smiled.

“Is your tummy upset at all?” she asked, holding two sugar cubes above his mug.

“Not at all. My _tummy_ is fine.”

She dropped in the sugar, clattering against the ceramic as they settled in the bottom of the mug.

“I think I’ll get you soup from the diner,” she decided, putting his teaspoon in a little more carefully so as not to make his headache any worse. “They do soup, right?”

“Oh, I’m alright, thank you. No need to bother.”

“Have you eaten?”

Silence.

“Anything at all today?”

 _Resounding_ silence, and a guilty puppy dog look to boot. Belle resisted the urge to fling herself at him and hug him to her bosom to keep him there forever, and grabbed her purse instead.

“Soup it is.”

“Magic,” he said, waving his hand through the air in a flourish.

Confused, she knitted her eyebrows together in a questioning look.

“I mean, because people think soup cures everything, which it doesn’t, and…”

Belle raised an eyebrow and slowly began to smirk.

“Never mind,” he sighed with an embarrassed grin as he dipped his head.

She patted the back of his hand. “I get it.”

He really was off today, and she felt terrible for him, but some part of her liked seeing him this frazzled, so completely incapable of growling without coughing, raising and showing off his hackles like a peacock fanning his feathers. It was almost too sweet for her to cope.

The kettle clicked off, so before she left, she filled his mug to the brim and brought it over to him, careful not to spill.

“It’s super hot, so don’t drink it right away but don’t wait too long either. Would you mind if I flipped the sign on my way out?”

“I think the correct answer to that question might be no.”

“Correct. I’ll be right back.”

He just smiled at her, sleepy and slow, and she fondly scratched the top of his head and left, flipping the sign on her way out of the shop.

…

The diner was fairly busy, but everyone seemed to be either eating or waiting in line at the moment. Not really the hustle and bustle she had come to expect of this place at lunch time. Belle joined the short queue at the register, looking around the room to see if Ruby was working. Looked like she wasn’t in today, but Granny was.

The formidable woman had that same thing about her, Belle thought to herself as she waited in line and watched Granny work behind the counter. She had that look of pure concentration that you could easily mistake for annoyance, until the stony facade cracked and made way for recognition. Why weren’t those two friends, actually? He didn’t seem to mind her so much, and he did so like to exaggerate. Perhaps he was only joking whenever he talked about how much Granny despised him.

“Belle!” she called out when she made her way up to the register, that tough look of hers vanishing instantly. “Long time no see!”

“I know! I’ve missed your awesome coffee.”

“Well I loved the new review. You got a lot of rage in you, don’t you?”

“Aw, thank you. I don’t, really. My boss thinks the negative ones sell better, so I read a lot of… well…”

“Crap,” said Granny, helpfully finishing her sentence for her.

Belle gave a grin and shrugged. “Pretty much.”

“Jeez. Now I feel kinda bad for enjoying them.”

“That’s alright,” said Belle, waving her hand. “It _is_ my job, and I don’t really mind doing it.”

“Even so, I hope you get to read a good one soon. Can’t be good for the soul. The usual for you?”

“Ehm, no, actually, can I have two orders of soup, please?”

“Soup?” she repeated, peering at her over the rim of her glasses. She had already made to reach out for the cake, and her arms were still outstretched.

“You do soup, right?”

Granny kept up her impenetrable stare for a while until Belle felt two feet tall and about a dozen years younger than she actually was. What was so strange about asking for soup?

“No, sure, we do soup,” Granny finally spoke, her voice unusually quiet. “Gold’s cutting down on caffeine, is he?”

Belle was shocked into a wide-eyed, immobilized silence. The mere unexpected mention of his name had made her heart skip a beat. Granny, meanwhile, threw her head back and cackled in victory.

“I knew it!” she laughed, shaking her head as Belle brought her hands to her swiftly reddening face.

Belle mumbled an, “Oh my God,” into her palms and wished she could sink into the ground and disappear then and there. _Idiot._

“Yeah, you two aren’t as slick as you think you are.”

“How did you… What, uh. What gave it away?” she asked in a squeakier voice than she would have liked, peeking at an incredibly smug looking Granny from between her fingers.

“Same orders, for one, and he’s got this disgusting smile nowadays. Mostly your reaction when I asked, though. That face of yours is an open book.”

Her bloody face. If it was truly an open book, she’d give it one star. The author had no idea how to work the matter, and it was predictable to the reader. Useless, in short.

“Belle! What’s up? Haven’t seen you in a while!”

It was Ruby, bursting out of the kitchen with a huge grin. Granny turned to her and waved her closer.

“Just in time!” she sang before Belle could even return Ruby’s greeting. “You didn’t tell me your talented friend here’s dating everyone’s favorite landlord!”

Ruby’s grin sort of froze and then melted, and she looked from Granny to her and back again over and over for a nailbiting moment. It took all of Belle’s strength not to hide behind her hands again.

“What are you talking about?”

“I mean Gold,” Granny clarified. “You didn’t tell me she was dating Gold.”

“ _What?_ You’re dating…”

“Yeah. I meant to tell you, but…”

She didn’t really have something with which to follow up that ‘but’, so Belle smiled apologetically and shrugged instead. Meanwhile, Granny’s smug grin had disappeared as well.

“Oops. Sorry, sweetie. I thought Ruby knew.”

“It’s alright.”

“ _Mr Gold_ is your almost-boyfriend?”

“Boyfriend now, actually.”

“Boyfriend! Jesus wept!” Granny cried out as she moved away from the register, presumably - and hopefully - to get that soup she’d ordered.

Ruby seemed gobsmacked, staring at her with her eyes wide and her jaw on the floor, and Belle wished she’d say something. Anything. She’d learned enough about this town and its strange relationship with Gold to know that there was going to be _some_ kind of reaction, but this was just weird. Like she’d just admitted to being in cahoots with Mephistopheles himself. Was she about to be tarred and feathered in the town square?

“Ruby?”

“Oh! Um. Sorry,” she mumbled, shaking her head as if to shake out the shock. “I’m just… surprised.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Belle replied, trying very hard to smile “I know he has a bit of a reputation.”

“He kinda does, yeah.” Ruby returned her smile and then turned to Granny to ask her, “Are you getting their coffee, or do you want me to take care of it?”

“No, she ordered soup.”

“He’s not feeling too well,” explained Belle. “Flu, maybe.”

“Karma!” Granny barked over the sound of the metal lid of the soup pot banging into place.

“He’s a good man, you know. It just takes a while to get to know him.”

Granny chuckled darkly, popping plastic lids on the styrofoam cups filled generously but dangerously to the brim with tomato soup.

“I’ve known Gold for at least a decade. With your logic, we’d be married by now.”

There was a full body shudder when the word ‘married’ left her mouth that Belle thought was very dramatic.

“Okay, maybe it’s not that simple, but I mean, he’s not _bad_. I wouldn’t be with a bad person.”

“Look,” sighed Granny, putting her order in a cardboard holder in a paper bag. “You don’t strike me as evil. And if you’re not criminally insane either, then that means Gold probably doesn’t go around stealing babies and burning orphanages. Doesn’t mean he’s likable.”

“Alright, but really, he’s not nearly as bad as he makes himself out to be. I know he puts up a front, but -”

“I don’t like scare tactics and people who use them,” Granny argued, her voice suddenly sterner. “But Ruby likes you, and so do I. And if you like him, well, then I guess I hope whatever the sketchy son of a bitch contracted isn’t fatal. Ruby’ll finish up; I have to check on the lasagna.”

Granny smiled warmly, then turned around and disappeared into the kitchen, muttering disbelief and obscenities even as the door swung shut behind her.

“Sorry,” said Ruby, smiling awkwardly. “She’s not as bad as she seems either.”

“It’s alright. I get that people’ve had different experiences with him. I can’t expect you to believe me.”

“I believe you, though. I mean, Granny might think you have to be crazy to like him, but I don’t think so. Some people have hidden sides, you know? Sometimes they never let anyone see it, even if it’s who they really are. The way I see it, I figure Mr Gold must have let you see something really good.”

Ruby smiled at her for a moment, then looked down at the counter as if suddenly self-conscious. In an unexpected moment of pure overwhelming gratitude and affection, Belle stood on her toes and reached over the counter with both arms to pull a surprised Ruby into as good of a hug as she could manage with all that space and hot soup between them.

“Thank you,” Belle sighed happily as Ruby’s arms came up to pat her gently on the back. “Didn’t know I needed that.”

She dropped back to her feet and beamed at Ruby until her startled expression made her think that maybe she’d been a bit too familiar just then. Oh well, her turn to look embarrassed, she supposed. But she snapped out of her surprise quick enough.

“I mean it,” Ruby replied, grinning as she pushed the paper bags a little closer. “And really, don’t mind my grandma. Bark’s worse than her bite kinda thing.”

Belle smiled. Sounded familiar.

…

Oh boy, and now she had to tell him that she’d accidentally blabbed to Granny. Well, she hadn’t exactly blabbed; she’d just been too shocked to distract or lie in the heat of the moment. Belle didn’t think he’d be upset, but still, she wasn’t sure how public or private he wanted them to be. They hadn’t really had a proper talk about that, but then again, he was very affectionate with her everywhere they went. Maybe it wouldn’t even be a problem at all. Maybe she was just being silly.

“Granny said get well soon!” she called out as she walked back into the shop, considering too late that perhaps he’d done the reasonable thing and decided to take a nap on the cot.

When she heard deep and hoarse laughter coming from the back room, Belle knew she hadn’t woken him up from a well-deserved and sorely needed nap. She joined him in the back room and was pleased to see that he was still where she’d left him, except now there was one of his giant reference books on the table. The book was closed, but she was willing to bet it hadn’t been for very long. With a suspicious stare and pursed lips, Belle pushed the book out of his reach and replaced it with one of the large styrofoam cups and a plastic spoon. A napkin, too.

“I don’t know why you’re laughing. She kind of did,” she teased, taking the chair opposite his.

He laughed a disbelieving, “No she didn’t,” and started coughing, and it sounded so painful that suddenly, Belle was in no mood to poke fun anymore.

But that was some terrible timing, because when it finally hit him, it hit him hard, and Belle could barely keep from giggling at the sight of him. His eyes grew the size of the saucers he’d been trying to look up in his porcelain reference book before she came in.

“Granny knows about us?”

“Yeah, I… messed up. A bit. I ordered the soup and she was like, ‘Is Mr Gold cutting down on caffeine?’ and I kind of froze, so…”

“Oh dear me,” he chuckled, his voice strained after that coughing fit. “I wish I’d seen that. Bet you got that deer in the headlights look I love so much. Makes your eyes even prettier.”

“Wait, you don’t mind?

“Not at all. I hope she’s picturing it.”

“Oh my God!” Belle gasped, letting the plastic lid from her own cup clatter to the table dramatically. “That’s the fever talking!”

“Why?” He grinned a gloriously mischievous grin at her and slowly stirred his soup. “I hardly think it’s strange to be proud to be romantically linked to someone as lovely as you.”

“That is _not_ what you said, and you know it!” she chided playfully, squaring her shoulders and wrestling down a flattered smile. “To the cot with you after you finish your soup, sir.”

“You’re very strict with me today,” he remarked in that strained and yet somehow alluringly gruff voice indicative of a vicious cold. “I’m rather enjoying - _Achoo!_ ”

Belle would have laughed, but just then, over his shoulder, something caught her eye. Something strange yet familiar in a glass display box on a shelf on the other side of the room. She narrowed her eyes a bit, stood up and walked closer until she could see that it was a frog. A leathery little taxidermy frog on a simple wooden base, dressed like one of those old tin soldiers, wearing a red, white and black uniform and a tall hat with a tiny little feather on top. No - it was _the_ Tin Soldier! The Steadfast Tin Soldier with a missing leg! Where was his little paper ballerina? And his other leg, for that matter?

“Is this one of Jefferson’s?”

“Hm?”

He turned a little in his chair so he could see, and Belle tapped on the glass with her fingernail to help focus his sleepy, red-eyed gaze. Once he found it, he smiled.

“Right, I forgot to mention, you just missed him.”

“What? Jefferson was here?”

“Yeah, just a quick visit this morning,” he explained as Belle gave the poor amphibian one last look of pity. “Slipped my mind completely.”

“Did he badger you into buying it?” she asked, sliding her hand over his back as she went back to her seat.

He took a moment to reply, having just swallowed a big spoonful of soup.

“No, he wanted to trade for the jewelry box.”

“You’re kidding.”

He shook his head. How strange, Belle thought. Surely the fever couldn’t have been _that_ bad. Was she going to have to call an ambulance?

“He saw the box and thought it’d be nice for wee Grace to keep her trinkets in, so we traded,” he rasped, holding back another coughing fit.

It made a little more sense now, now that she knew Jefferson had mentioned Grace. He always got twice as lovable whenever he spoke of her.

“The frog isn’t as bad as some of the other monstrosities I saw in his shop. It’ll sell.”

Nodding towards the taxidermy disaster, Belle teased, “Not over there it won’t.”

“It’s not staying!” he insisted, the little lopsided smirk giving him away completely. “I didn’t have a proper spot to display it.”

“Mm, sure.”

Belle had forgotten all about her soup. It was still warm enough, though. Tasted a bit canned and a little too salty, and yet he hadn’t mentioned it at all. Was that for her sake, or had the fever burned his tastebuds off? In any case, he spooned dutifully on, apparently unbothered.

“Jefferson didn’t even tell me he was thinking of paying you a visit,” she mused, wondering if maybe he’d left her a message on her phone and she’d simply missed it.

A slurp, a smirk, a raised eyebrow, and a teasing, “Jealous?” later, and Belle wondered how long she could kiss him for before guaranteed infection.

…

She gave him the last ibuprofen in her purse and tried to talk him into going to bed, which had never been this difficult. Eventually, after cooing about how worried she was with her chin on his shoulder and her arms draped around his neck for about a minute, she just tugged on his sleeve a bit and he obliged her without even a single grumble. He got up from his chair and followed her to the cot. There was a plaid blanket folded at the bottom, and Belle fully intended on tucking him in to the best of her abilities.

“Why do you even keep this thing in here if you never sleep on it?” she asked, watching him as he sat down on the edge of the cot and loosened his tie with skillful fingers.

“When Neal was very little, there weren’t any decent daycare options nearby. I kept him here in the shop with me whenever Milah was off somewhere, and when he was ill and couldn’t go to school. He took his naps here when he still needed them. Some of his toys might still be here, actually.”

Belle wondered about Milah. She wondered about her a lot, but she wouldn’t ask now. Thinking of his son’s old toys had made him smile dreamily, and she wanted to see him doze off with that smile.

But she had a better idea.

“Scoot back a little,” she said as he was laying himself down. “I think I’ll join you.”

“Oh, I can't let you do that sweetheart. I’ll get you sick.”

“I have a brilliant immune system,” she told him gravely. “I’ll be just fine.”

He growled some sort of half-hearted protest in response, but he was already pulling up the blanket at his feet and lifting one corner of it to allow her to slide under and join him. Victorious, she settled with her back against his chest and his arm over her waist. They had to wriggle a bit in order to find a comfortable position, but then they fit perfectly together, despite the lack of space.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his raspy voice close to her ear sending a shiver down her spine. “I feel better already.”

“You don’t have to thank me. You’d take care of me too.”

If she let him, which she knew she might not at first. But she ought to.

“Did he tell you what happened to the frog’s leg?” Belle asked softly. “He didn’t snap it off on purpose, did he?”

She could feel him laugh silently with his chest so snug against her back. Made her smile.

“No, he found it that way. Some garage sale somewhere, he told me. Grace came up with the Tin Soldier theme.”

“That’s really sweet. Although… Isn’t that story a bit sad for a little kid?”

“Did it make you sad when you read it?”

She nodded, and he pulled her a little closer against his chest.

“Me too.”

He was incredibly warm. He radiated heat, and every time he exhaled, it warmed her even more. Normally, she would have trouble dozing off with him clinging to her as he was, but Belle had gotten up very early that morning, and he was so very, very, _very_ soft and warm, and the smell of his aftershave made her feel so at ease, and it wasn’t long before she began to feel sleepy after all. After ten or so minutes of closing her eyes for a few seconds and testing out sleep like dipping her toes into an abandoned swimming pool, Belle noticed that the patch of sun on the wooden floor had moved closer, and she knew it would soon reach the cot and bathe them in light and warmth. Smiling, Belle closed her eyes and let her mind drift towards sleep, pleased and warm there in his arms.

…

A bell chimed somewhere very far off. Somewhere warm and bright, maybe by the sea in the summertime. For a moment, she thought that it might have been a bell on a little boat in the distance maybe, but no, it chimed again, and Belle woke up and instantly understood where she was. The shop. The bell above the door. A customer?

Blinking against the light streaming in from the windows in the back room, Belle hoped desperately that whoever had just walked in would think no-one was there, and would leave again. She didn’t want to get up. She doubted she _could_ get up without waking him, and waking him was the last thing she wanted to do. He was breathing so peacefully, keeping her close against his chest even in his sleep. Whoever it was could wander about for a minute longer, surely. If they didn’t leave in a minute, she’d try to slip out from under his heavy arm and politely see them out. It wasn’t as if she could take over for him and try to sell or buy anything. There weren’t any price tags, and if it wasn’t on her grocery list, or a book, or stocked by Hot Topic, or band merch at a show, she wouldn’t in a million years be able to estimate the value of it.

Wait. Had she not flipped the sign earlier? 

She had. She definitely had, and she hadn’t flipped it back to open again when she got back from the diner, and her heart began to race as she heard footsteps nearing the back room. The cot was pushed up against the wall. If that person walked in, they would only have to look to their left and down a bit to see Belle gaping at them in fear while her unconventional sleeping beauty spooned her and snored very lightly like a purring cat. She tested his hold on her a bit, and found that he was holding on fairly tight. _God_ , this would either be very funny or brutally mortifying.

The footsteps kept coming closer, and when a figure finally appeared in the doorway, Belle held her breath and tried to stay calm. But then she saw the dark hair, the familiar face with black around the eyes, the Siouxsie and the Banshees t-shirt, and she felt as if she’d fallen straight through the cot, the floor and even the ground, and kept on falling like an untethered astronaut helplessly floating towards a lonely certain death.

It was a nightmare, surely. It wasn’t happening. Neal had _not_ just caught her and his father spooning in the back of his father’s shop. He had not just seen her for the very first time wearing an Alkaline Trio t-shirt, ripped tights and her choker - the full bloody Hot Topic get-up with as many rubber bracelets she could fit on her wrists that morning in her hurry to get to work on time. She’d even thought of getting the blue out of her hair before they met, but it was far too late for that, and this was terrible. Fuck. It wasn’t a nightmare. It was worse.

All of that and a few _fucks_ more whizzed through her mind in less than two seconds while they stared at each other like startled deer. Belle had to hold her head up and crane her neck a bit just to make eye contact, so this was profoundly uncomfortable in more than just the social sense. Behind her, showing no sign of consciousness, Gold snored on.

“Um. Hi. You’re Neal, right?”

Neal gave a weak nod as his face slowly changed from shock - which was understandable - to something that worried Belle far more. 

“Hi Neal, I’m Belle,” she managed despite her dry mouth (from nerves and from sleep). Subtly, she shifted her leg in the hopes of waking her comatose boyfriend up.

“Can’t believe that’s actually a relief,” came his muttered reply.

Didn’t sound like it. Didn’t look like it either, with his eyebrows pushed together, his eyes small and his mouth curled in a look that Belle hoped with all of her tremulous heart wasn’t disgust or hatred.

Christ, and he was out cold. She was practically kicking him now, and yet _nothing_.

“Wake up,” she tried. “Neal’s here.”

Neal still stood frozen in the doorway, of no help at all. She wished he’d help wake him up. She was sure that might do it.

“He, uh, he’s got a fever,” Belle explained with nervous laughter. “He really needed that nap, I guess.”

“I’m gonna go.”

“No! No, wait, he’ll be so pleased to see you!”

“Right,” he huffed, and he turned on his his heels to leave, but just then, something behind her stirred and groaned in displeasure.

Oh dear God. That sound was embarrassing, but at least he was waking up now. Still, he could hurry a bit, couldn’t he?

“Wake up!” she hissed, giving him a firm jab with her elbow.

But he only wrapped his arms tighter around her, like a coiling boa constrictor around its prey.

“No. You’ve made your bed,” he groaned in response, and Belle felt her face grow glowing hot.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Neal mumbled, digging his fingers in his hair and turning to face the wall.

“It’s Neal,” Belle whispered loudly. “Neal’s here.”

“Neal? Neal!”

Suddenly, she was free, and she scrambled to sit up on the cot as he frantically crawled to his feet. She pulled the blanket over her lap to hide as much of her outfit as she could. It was painful to see him stumble up, dizzy and sleepy and disoriented, his brain in a panic, his body still mostly shut down. Meanwhile, Neal had turned to face them again with a steely look.

“Neal, this is Belle,” he panted from the effort.

“Yeah. She said.”

“We’ve been… She’s… I told you about her.”

Belle wrapped her arms around herself awkwardly, as if that might minimize the damage now that she was standing up without the blanket to cover the rest of her. But he wasn’t even looking at her.

“It’s nice to meet you, Neal,” she said, her voice and her smile trembling.

Neal’s answering silence needn’t have been a harsh snap judgement, Belle told herself perhaps a bit naively. It could have been shock. Shock was alright. Shock went away. Didn’t it? _Oh please, let it just be shock._

“Let me explain outside,” pleaded Gold, motioning towards the door leading to the little courtyard.

“I’ll, uh, I’ll just go.”

“Belle, no. Please. Stay.”

She wanted to run. Sink through the floor and disappear for the second time that day. But Belle swallowed and nodded, quite unable to tell him no with that desperate look in his eyes even though she had no idea why he wanted her there.

“I’ll be in the front,” she muttered hurriedly and slid past a still very immobile Neal, smiling bravely but feeling entirely weak inside, like her bones were paper and nothing more. She moved to the counter and held it for balance, her heart beating fast in her chest. She listened to the sound of their footsteps as they went outside, and when the door closed behind them, she sighed, collapsing to the countertop and sinking her hands in her hair.

The dismayed, “ _Hot Topic?_ ” that made it through one closed door and a room and a half filled with various obstacles not ten seconds later should have made her move even further to the front of the shop, or even outside, but strangely, it didn’t. She moved closer. She moved to the doorway to the back room first, and then shuffled a little closer still.

Neal didn’t shout anything after that, which was why she’d had to move even closer. She was curious, couldn’t help herself. Out of the window in the door, she could see them at the other end of the little courtyard. Gold had his back turned to her, blocking Neal’s view of the room. They wouldn’t see her, Belle thought, but she moved a little to the side anyway. In doing so, she stepped on a loose floorboard, and when it creaked she couldn’t hear the deeper voice speak. She did, however, catch Neal’s response.

“Yeah, but you said you were seeing a woman, not a girl.”

Her heart fell — _straight_ down into her belly like a heavy jagged stone. Served her right for eavesdropping.

“Neal, I understand that you’re upset, but that’s incredibly rude.”

He was restraining himself. Belle could hear it in his voice, and she felt seven kinds of sick at the thought that he might snap and yell at Neal for her sake. She bit her tongue, balled her hands into fists, held back tears.

“It’s not like I said it to her face, but fine. Sure. Let’s talk about you, then. You’re too old.”

“There is… an age difference. Yes. But she’s almost 28.”

“Almost 28?” Neal scoffed. “So she’s 27. You had to add a year to make it sound better and it still sounds bad. She’s only 11 years older than me. Shit, if we’re adding years to make a point, I’m almost 17. That’s only a ten year difference.”

“Neal, I know, I _know_ it’s a bit of a shock, but it’s really not -”

“She was only ten when I was born.”

“Eleven, I think.”

“Whatever! How old were you when she was born?”

“Look, what does it matter? Let’s not -”

“Wow. You can’t even say it. Were you with mom when she was born?”

She might actually be sick after all. Belle wrapped her arms around herself again and held on as tightly as she could. Maybe it would keep down the tears if she only squeezed tight enough. She was wearing far too much eye makeup to get away with crying. She couldn’t cry.

“Neal, you’re making this -”

“I’m not doing shit. This is all you.”

“But you were so good about this last week. Remember what you said to me the other day? You said you were glad I was bothering someone else for a change.”

“That was when I didn’t know you were bothering Myspace scene queens.”

“I don’t know what any of that means!” he exclaimed in obvious frustration, briefly running his nervous hands through his hair.

“Yeah. Whatever. Never mind.”

“But I do know you’re upset, and you have every right to be. I don’t understand how it happened or why she wants me in her life, I just…”

It was silent for a very long time, during which none of them moved. It seemed like minutes before his deeper voice, a little more strained and tired now, uttered, “Neal, she makes me happy.”

It was only then that she stopped biting her tongue and stopped clutching at the fabric of her t-shirt in a frantic self-embrace. Her heart was all the way up in her throat now, and her mouth had dropped open.

“You weren’t before?”

It was a quiet little peep. Not an accusation. A trembling question so soft she almost didn’t catch it. And when she heard it, one of the tears she’d been trying hard to keep contained swelled and escaped. She wiped it away with the back of her wrist, couldn’t tear her eyes away from his shoulders as they softened and fell, and his hands as they reached out and perched on Neal’s shoulders.

“Oh, Neal…”

It was the most emotion she’d ever heard in his voice. It was deep, rough, heartfelt, and she knew it wasn’t the cold that had made it sound as if he’d torn his name straight from his heart and pulled it out through his throat.

“Of course I was happy before. You’re the most precious thing in my life, and every time I see you I just… God, I’m gonna embarrass you now and ask for forgiveness later, but I’m just so incredibly proud of you, son. I love you more than anything. If I woke up tomorrow and I had to live my life all over again, I’d make the exact same choices. All of them. Exactly the same, so that I’d end up with you exactly as you are.”

They fell together in a hug so sudden it made an audible _thud_ sound, and the tears were just streaming out of her now. No use in trying. She felt like an intruder and began to back away, right back to the front of the shop, where she’d said she’d stay. She wasn’t supposed to have heard any of it.

“I should have told you about her sooner. I shouldn’t have kept you out of my life like that. I’m sorry.”

And then she heard nothing. She moved swiftly back to the counter, reached for the tissues she knew he kept under there, and found an unsold mirror fixed to the wall so she could clean herself up as best as she could, considering. Her heart ached. She didn’t know if what had just happened had been good or bad. She didn’t know anything. She just felt, and what she felt made her hands shake.

Minutes passed. Ten, maybe more. But then the back door opened. Two pairs of footsteps came ever nearer. Belle straightened herself, quickly pushed the tissues she’d just used off the counter and out of sight, and waited with a forced, nervous smile.

Neal walked in first, and behind him stood his father, sporting a tired, tiny smile of his own. Neal looked at her then, straight in the eyes. Not like before. And he mumbled, but he didn’t sound angry when he nodded towards her t-shirt and told her, “There’s a song on that album that doesn’t suck.”

Belle’s eyes sprung wide open, and she stuttered in her haste to reply.

“Oh. Y-You think? I mean, I… Obviously _I_ think so, I’m wearing the shirt, after all, but I mean… Y-Yeah?”

Fuck, embarrassing herself to boot. Neal quirked an eyebrow very quickly, and for a split second, Belle thought he looked very much like his father did whenever he was getting ready to tease her for something she’d said that was apparently a little weirder than she thought it was, but then he just gave a curt nod and began to move towards the door.

“Yeah. Bye.”

“No, wait!” she called out abruptly, not even sure of what it was she wanted to say until he stopped just in front of the door and turned around with caution in his eyes. “Thank you for sharing your cake with me,” she said softly, smiling a little easier now.

“Sure.”

Out Neal went, the little bell above his head signaling his departure. And she could breathe again all of the sudden, inhaling deep. So deep she felt as if her ribs might fracture.

“Are you alright?” sounded his soothing voice just over her shoulder. His hot hands were on her waist, thumbs rubbing circles over her t-shirt.

“Might have had a little heart attack, but yeah. I’m fine. Are you?”

“Still waiting for my heart to start beating again, but fine.”

Belle turned around, and as she splayed her hands against his chest, she wondered whether the red in his eyes was because of the flu, or something else.

“Does that mean it went okay?”

He smiled warmly at her.

“Well, he said it was gross. But he also said he wasn’t going to be a jerk about it.”

“I heard some of it,” she confessed, pausing to lick her lips. “But I didn’t hear that. Gross?”

“Gross. But that means me. Not you. I’m gross.”

Belle felt as if she could laugh. She was too exhausted to, really, but she could have. And that felt amazing.

“You just need to blow your nose and get a good night’s sleep, that’s all,” she said, moving her hands up to his shoulders to give them a fond squeeze.

“Excellent idea. I’m going to close up and take him home so we can talk, but I’ll make sure to blow my nose first chance I get.”

“Are you alright to drive?”

“Yeah. The entire ordeal got the adrenaline going. I won’t nod off.”

“Good. A-And… And is he going to be alright?” she asked, her voice a bit higher, the terrible tension of tears lying in wait making her sound congested all of the sudden. “Is he going to stop being embarrassed? Some day?”

He licked his lips and pushed his eyebrows together. After a few silent seconds of staring out of the window over her shoulder, he very seriously told her, “It’s going to take a while.”

“Course. Yeah.”

“But he’ll try. I know he will.”

Belle sighed and let herself collapse against him just a little bit. He put his hands on her arms and kissed her forehead sweetly.

“I’d kiss you goodbye properly, but I can tell we’ll just keep infecting each other if we go down that road.”

Belle laughed softly and bumped her nose against his, just once, and then she let him go and followed him out into the brightness of that sunny afternoon. He held the door open for her, and outside, across the street, she saw Neal leaning against the hood of his father’s dark and imposing car, waiting. The car suited him the way it suited his dad. The pair of them - three if she included the car - made a strangely dark and gloomy picture in this otherwise picturesque town. She loved it. She wondered if she might ever fit in.

Feeling brave, Belle called out, “Bye Neal!” just as he was getting into the car.

Neal paused and raised a slow hand in response, a minimalist wave with a face like a thundercloud, but it meant the world to Belle, and it made her smile.


	13. Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It turned out not to be a foolproof scheme, but also that Neal was fairly good at pep talks, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for being awesome and patient. You guys are great.

The first few weeks of proper summer were the nicest weeks Gold had had in a while.

Belle stopped by the shop whenever she could - once or twice a week if her Hot Topic schedule allowed it - and Gold hadn’t gotten tired of her loud, sunny entrances one bit. She’d also taken to pretending to be his shop assistant whenever a customer did pop in during one of her visits, which was delightful. If Gold didn’t strongly believe that her talents would be wasted there selling old things for far too much money, he might have gotten dangerously used to her chirping her hellos at very confused regulars and curious newcomers.

Belle had gotten even bubblier since she’d had word from Sidney. Gold was quietly but enormously pleased with himself for his subtle touch in the matter. No broken promises, stress-free girlfriend. In turn, Gold no longer found himself worrying about her as much as he did before. That certainly didn’t mean he had stopped worrying completely; he wasn’t even sure if that was something he was capable of when it came to the wellbeing of the people he cared about. (All two of them.) If stress had played a part in Belle not wanting to talk to him for several days, then stress was the enemy. Stress had to be eradicated completely. He wanted to get her a new computer, for instance, because her old one was on the fritz, but he’d need a good excuse for that, like a birthday or something, and even then he knew he’d still be pushing it with a price tag like that. He also found himself paying a little more attention to car ads than usual, but that was obviously _right_ out. Tough fact to swallow, but swallow it he did.

He would need Neal’s help to find her a good computer, anyway. Gold was no technophobe, but his son was far better equipped to pick out something decent that wouldn’t give up the ghost any time soon, something that would meet the needs of a writer. But he hadn’t yet pinned down just how much Belle talk was too much Belle talk for Neal to handle. Immediately after their disastrous first meeting that Gold now suspected of having sped up his graying process, Neal refused to discuss it much at all. They’d had that conversation behind the shop, and that had ended relatively well, yes, but that was just about the end of it until a few days after, when Neal asked him to help replace the needle on his record player and Gold took the opportunity to mention Belle’s indirect role in picking out his gift. No longer was the very mention of her met with a steely silence after that. Polite but brief acknowledgments were the norm now, an ‘oh’ or a ‘did she’ or an ‘okay’ whenever he mentioned her in conversation. It wasn’t much, but in another sense, it was _so_ much. To ask him along on a shopping trip to find her a present, however? Probably still a bit _too_ much.

He saw much more of her in the evenings now that the cat was out of the bag. Dinner dates, walks around town, dreadful movies and history documentaries in her studio with flickering candles scattered around the room and a bowl of slightly burnt popcorn in her lap. He hadn’t slept over in a while, but it hadn’t stopped them from getting carried away on her couch after a beer or two. Sometimes there was so much lipstick and sweat on him he felt the need to take a shower in her tiny bathroom before heading back home. He did sometimes feel a modicum of shame, then, although he knew on a purely logical level that he wasn’t actually doing anything wrong. But then she would take her hairdryer to his hair and run her fingers through it soothingly, and everything fell into place again. Everything was right.

The first day of her new job was a very good day. She fluttered into his shop five minutes past noon, because it only took her five minutes to get from her new office to his shop. She glowed, she laughed, she gesticulated as she told him all about her day so far, how nice everyone was, how fun the work was. Nearly forgot to eat her lunch in all the excitement. It turned out that she got off work before he usually closed the shop, so in the late afternoon she would drop by again, and Gold got a kiss goodbye. Every day from then on. Every single weekday he would get to see her like that, and every single day, he grew even more pleased with himself for his decision to do a bit of subtle meddling to get them to that point.

But the moment he noticed her entering his shop one sweltering July afternoon, he knew at once. He didn’t even realize that it was Belle who had walked into the shop at first; the door had opened too slowly for that, the bell’s chime more of an echo than anything else. Gold knew the game was up the moment he looked up and saw her letting the door fall shut behind her, unsmiling, unmoving.

It was curious. He hadn’t really thought about her finding out that often, since everything had worked out so well. Sometimes a fleeting intrusive little moth of a thought would bother him when he couldn’t get to sleep at night, but he could shake that off again just as easily. He hadn’t actually broken his promise, after all. He hadn’t actually done anything wrong, had he?

“Hey, sweetheart!” he said, putting on a big smile.

_Had he?_

“The woman who had my job before me dropped by today.”

Gold forced a smile and uttered a soft, “Oh?”

“Can I ask you something?”

And with those five dreadful words, it was winter in the middle of July. Her voice was weak and dry, and she fidgeted with the hem of her black blouse as she took a couple of small steps towards the counter. Normally, Gold would have gone around to kiss her already, but it was not that kind of visit today. He stood stiff as a board behind the counter, his hands holding on to the edge to keep himself upright in the face of the upcoming storm.

“Course you can, sweetheart.”

“Do you know her?”

Not even the littlest of preambles. She knew.

“You mentioned her before, yes,” he tried.

Belle shook her head and took another small step closer. Inside his chest, his heart was preparing to plummet straight down his ribcage.

“No. Do you _know_ her?”

He knew then that the intelligent thing to do was to confess. That way, he could start explaining to her the brilliance of his plan and get it all over with. Unfortunately, his body wasn’t cooperating. He couldn’t move a muscle, and his mouth was bone-dry.

“Did you talk to her?”

She must have spilled the secret. Not unreasonable; he hadn’t told her it was a secret. It was difficult to swallow with a mouth so dry, but he had to get rid of the knot in his throat somehow. He couldn’t let his silence speak for him.

“Yes. I did.”

Belle’s eyes went big and she made a devastating little sound - an almost inaudible gasp, fragile and voiceless. It wasn’t anger. He’d seen her angry, and this wasn’t that. Only when she knitted her brow and her lips came back together in a trembling line did it hit him with a sickening force: it was disappointment, and it felt much worse.

“I’m sorry you had to find out, sweetheart, but there’s no need to worry. No harm done, I promise.”

She gave him a look as if he’d just grown a second head on his shoulders, her lips no longer that heartbreaking wiggling line of emotion. Instead, her mouth had dropped open.

“No harm done?”

There was an edge to her voice that he knew would cut him harsh and deep if he didn’t explain himself before it was too late. Straightening and putting on a confident, calm, lie of a face, Gold replied, “None whatsoever. I merely rewarded the loyalty of a longterm tenant, and solved a problem in the process.”

“Wow,” she sighed quietly. “Do you believe yourself?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“You seriously don’t think you did anything wrong?”

The horrendous feeling in his stomach screamed no. His shoulders, however, rose in a cautious shrug that made her eyes grow in disbelief.

“Right, okay, I don’t even know where to start,” she huffed, the hint of laughter in her voice clearly dark and unamused. “Actually, no, wait, let’s start with the fact that you lied to me.”

“I… I don’t think I did,” said Gold, putting his hand over his heart.

“I showed up here two weeks ago to tell you I got the job, and you pretended to be surprised.”

“I was excited for you,” he argued. “I wasn’t pretending.”

“No,” she said in what was almost a whisper, shaking her head. “You asked me why it took Sidney so long to hire me, but you already knew. Don’t you understand how wrong that is?”

But was it a lie, Gold wondered? Would anything be gained by arguing semantics? It had been deceptive of him, perhaps, but…

He bit his tongue. There was no reasonable way to end that sentence.

“You’re right,” he began, dipping his head in acknowledgement. “I understand what you mean, and I’m sorry it upset you, but Belle, you need to ask yourself: what’s the harm in what I did? Really, when you think about it, there are only positives here.”

“Only positives?”

“Well, yes. Your predecessor can carry on as planned and you got the job you deserve. What’s so terrible about any of that?”

“You,” she cried out, jabbing her finger at him, “you… you _bought_ me that job!”

It wasn’t the volume of her voice in itself. It was more the obvious hurt in her voice; the unsteadiness, the accent thickening out of nowhere that startled him and made his knees feel weaker.

“I… I really don’t think that’s… that’s what I did, exactly,” he stammered.

“You lowered her rent because somehow you knew the money was keeping her from retiring. You’re paying for my job. Every single month.”

“Don’t look at it like that, love,” he implored. “It’s not like that.”

“It’s exactly like that!”

“Just don’t… Please. Please don’t look at it like that,” he repeated quietly. “I didn’t talk to Sidney. You asked me not to, and I didn’t.”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t know exactly what I meant,” she warned, her voice deep and serious but still unsteady. “You’re clever enough. You knew I didn’t want you pulling strings, and you went out of your way to do it anyway.”

He didn’t know what to say. Outside, a couple walked slowly past the shop, and Gold wasn’t sure whether he wanted them to walk on or come in and stop this disaster from happening. But he didn’t have a choice in the matter. They walked straight past his door and out of sight.

“I can’t believe you went behind my back,” she muttered in disbelief, shaking her head and letting her shoulders drop for the first time in a while as she turned around and took a few listless, aimless steps.

“But I only did that because I knew you wouldn’t approve if I asked.”

That, it quickly became clear, was not the right thing to say. She snapped around. Her eyes were wide again, fearsome spotlights that blinded and paralyzed. Something cold and dreadful encased him completely, a slow wave of slimy water chilling him to the bone.

“You know… I reckoned you might be an amazing liar. But I never thought you’d actually -”

Her words got stuck in her throat and overtaken by a strangled sob that made him feel sick to his stomach. And then the tears spilled over, big shimmery streaks down her soft cheeks.

“I trusted you,” she murmured, her voice faint and strangled.

“Sweetheart,” he rasped, stumbling around the counter towards her. But she took a step back towards the door, shaking her head, wiping her tears on the leather of her jacket sleeve.

“Tell me what else you lied about,” she demanded.

“N-Nothing.”

“When I came into your shop. The day I kissed you. Did you talk to Sidney before I did?”

“No.”

“Did you get him to take me on as a freelancer? Were you pretending to be surprised then too?”

“No!”

She stared at him for a moment, her lips pushed together firmly. Her fierce eyes moved over his face in quick, brisk movements.

“And that whole… About your past. About your father, and what you did. Was that true or did you just make it up cause you felt sorry for me?”

“Belle!” he gasped, taking another step forward which she quickly countered with a step back. “I promise you, I wouldn’t lie about that!”

“How would I know?” she cried, her voice finally breaking and taking his thudding heart with it. “How will I ever know now? You’re not just good at lying. You enjoy it.”

“That’s not true. Belle… I just want you to be happy. I understand that you’re -”

The bell crashed more than chimed when she jerked the door open, cutting him off.

“I don’t think you get it at all,” she mumbled into her sleeve as she wiped the tears from her eyes.

“Wait!” he called out. “Please don’t disappear again. Can’t we talk about this?”

She stood still in the middle of the doorway, her eyes now red and glimmering with tears.

“I’ve done all the talking I can stomach right now,” she said softly. “I’m not disappearing. I just don’t want to see you for a while.”

“But when…”

“When you get it.”

The chill when the door fell slowly shut behind her was a familiar one. He stood there, staring, in shock, and sick. Outside, a cloud moved in front of the beaming sun, bringing out his tired reflection in the glass in the door, and there he was. The ‘jerk’ who had been following him around all his life just to ruin things.

Why did he even look so fucking surprised?

…

Twenty-six hours sleepless hours, give or take a few minutes. That was how long Gold managed not to try to contact her.

_Can I call you?_

When the screen of his cellphone went black, Gold realized he hadn’t turned on the light in his study. When he’d walked in there after dinner, glum and heavy and tired of feigning normalcy, the sun hadn’t yet disappeared over the horizon. Now he sat there in the darkness, because he didn’t know what else to do.

He hadn’t expected her to text back so soon. His phone buzzed on the mahogany of his desk and it startled him. He nearly dropped it in his fumbling hurry to read the message.

_If you want to risk it_

Gold sighed heavily and put his phone back down on the desk. That was a no, then. At least she had actually responded this time around, he thought to himself as he clicked on his desk light. Last time had been different. Last time was just a confluence of circumstances, bottled up emotions and minimal stupidity on his part. Now… Now it was all one hundred percent his doing, but at least there was no strict radio silence.

A knock on the door made him snap his head around, confused. He didn’t remember closing it.

“Come in,” he called out.

The door creaked open, and in the doorway stood Neal, casting a shadow into the room with the bright light in the hallway behind him.

“I just wanted to - … Wow, it’s dark in here.”

“Oh. Yeah. You can turn the light on.”

A click, and the room was bathed in light. Gold blinked until his eyes were a bit more adjusted to the sudden brightness.

“Thanks,” Gold said with a forced smile, turning in his desk chair to face Neal better. “What’s on your mind?”

Neal dug his hands into his pockets and leaned against the doorframe.

“I was thinking…”

Patient but curious, Gold raised an eyebrow.

“I was thinking, if I let you invite Belle over for dinner one of these days, will you stop looking so damn miserable?”

“No! Of course not!” he said. Noticing Neal’s strange look, he quickly clarified, “I mean, I’m not miserable, for one, but I told you I only wanted you to meet her when you were ready. I know technically you’ve already met her, but that deal is still on.”

“It’s just that you mentioned her yesterday morning and I… kinda rolled my eyes, I guess, and you’ve been looking like hell ever since.”

“Don’t you worry about that,” Gold assured him with a warm smile. “I didn’t mind. I’m desensitized to your eye rolling at this point.”

“That sucks,” he sighed. “Now I have to come up with something else.”

“Can’t wait.”

“Okay then. If it didn’t upset you, then I’d like to wait a little longer to meet her if that’s okay.”

“That won’t be a problem,” Gold muttered darkly, glancing at his dead silent phone on the corner of his desk.

“What did you do?”

Neal’s tone was both curious and accusatory, and when he looked over at him, he’d folded his arms across his chest. Was he that transparent, or did he have a psychic for a son?

“It’s alright. You don’t have to worry about it.”

Not the right thing to say, it seemed. Neal narrowed his eyes to two thin strips of pure, unadulterated suspicion.

“Who says I’m worrying? It’s just morbid curiosity.”

“I really shouldn’t be bothering you with this sort of thing, son,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“Oh, come on. If you pissed _her_ off, who else are you gonna talk to?”

Gold stared in mild amusement as his son sat himself down on the dark green leather sofa pushed up against the other wall, all long limbs and smugness. So now he wanted to hear about Belle, did he? He had some curious timing, Neal did. With a sigh, Gold sat back in his chair, sinking a little bit deeper.

“Belle was promised a job that was absolutely perfect for her, but someone had to retire before she could start. It was taking a little long, and the wait was making her miserable, so I found out what the problem was and I fixed it. Belle found out yesterday, and she wasn’t pleased.”

“Fixed it?” Neal repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Like you ‘fixed’ the ‘problem’ with my art teacher three years ago?”

“No,” Gold growled, furrowing his brow, “I didn’t have anyone fired. I just did a wee bit of digging, and it turned out to be one of my tenants. I found out she’d had a financial setback that made her rethink her retirement. I lowered her rent so she could go ahead with her plans. That’s all.”

“You lowered rent?” Neal asked, jerking his head back in surprise.

“Pittance in the grand scheme of things,” muttered Gold, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture.

“Well I guess that’s better than getting her fired, but it’s still weird.”

“It was a good deed on all fronts, in my opinion. I don’t understand why it upset Belle so much.”

“I’m guessing you didn’t ask her.”

Gold cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter in his chair. Half mumbling, he confessed, “Well, I knew she wouldn’t want me to, so no, I didn’t ask.”

Neal’s eyebrows shot up, and he scrambled to sit on the edge of his seat, hands clasping his knees and his mouth wide open to gasp a dramatic, “Oh my God, for real?”

“That’s the face she made when I told her that,” Gold remarked under his breath.

“You actually _told_ her that?” he gasped even louder.

Gold could only manage a guilty nod at that point.

“So you got caught being sketchy _and_ you basically told her you don’t care about what she wants.”

“W-what?” sputtered Gold, scrunching up his face in exaggerated confusion. “That’s not exactly… I mean, that’s not true.”

“Seriously, you told her flat out you didn’t even have to think twice about going behind her back. Like it was super easy for you.”

“That’s not what… What I meant was I wouldn’t have done that had I not thought it necessary. I didn’t deceive her for the sake of deceiving her.”

“So you’d be alright with it if I got a tattoo as long as you didn’t know?”

“I would not, as you very well know!” Gold scolded, putting on his sternest face.

But Neal just sat back, one long arm draped lazily over the back of the sofa and a satisfied smirk on his pale face. That was when it hit him like a freight train, straight in the solar plexus, shoving the air out of his lungs.

“Oh, _fuck!_ ” Gold groaned, bringing his hands up to his face. He was an idiot. A tactless, oblivious shambles of a man.

While he despaired, Neal snorted in amusement but didn’t laugh at him outright, which was very kind. “So how bad is it?”

Gold let his hands drop limply into his lap and shrugged.

“She hates being dependent on anyone for anything. She said I’m paying for her to have a job every month.”

“Yeah, I see what she means,” Neal mused, the laughter audible in his voice earlier completely gone now. “Cause you’re not making the money you usually would, just so she could have a job. That’s messed up.”

“Yeah. I suppose it is.”

“Something tells me you didn’t apologize either.”

“I said I was sorry, but… no. I didn’t apologize. I didn’t get it then.”

“You get it now, don’t you?”

“I do, but I don’t know what I can do to fix the rent situation. She’s going to move out to live closer to her family eventually, but I couldn’t raise her rent again in the mean time, could I? Belle wouldn’t like that either.”

“Cause fixing things is going really well for you, right? Just apologize, dad.”

Gold turned away from his son to lean on his desk, suddenly weak and overcome with a desperate sense of futility. It had only been a day since he’d last seen her, but he missed her terribly. Her voice, her smile, the way she leaned into him when he touched her.

He hadn’t really meant to say it out loud, especially not to his poor son currently making great efforts to veil his concern with thin layers of sarcasm and ennui, so when he heard his own tired voice sadly mumble, “Maybe she's just too good for me,” Gold was surprised.

But not as surprised as he was when Neal replied with a terse, “Then break up with her.”

Baffled, he turned to face his son again, his chair creaking as he spun it around. Neal looked frighteningly serious, his jaw set and his stare fierce, and Gold didn’t know what to say.

“If you really think you can’t be better for her, what’s the point in dragging it out?”

“You… You want me to break up with her?”

“No!” he gasped, exasperated. “I’m saying you should stop feeling sorry for yourself! Just get your shit together instead of playing sad villain all of the damn time.”

Once the shock of truth had worn off a little bit, Gold mumbled a distracted and half-hearted, “Pushing it with the language, lad,” and began to feel ashamed of himself and his old patterns and habits.

“Sorry. You should apologize is what I mean. Sitting here moping is stupid. Have you talked to her since?”

“I texted her to ask if I could call. She said I could if I wanted to risk it.”

“That’s good!”

“Good? _How?_ ”

“Look, that obviously means you better have your apology all figured out before you call her, that’s all.”

Gold stared at his son, unsure if he was looking at a bonafide social genius or a dangerously skilled bluff.

“How are you so sure?” he asked, knitting his eyebrows together.

Neal rolled his eyes and looked away towards the door, affixing his gaze to some unseen point in the hallway as he muttered, “When I first met Emma, I kind of implied she was only wearing a Sex Pistols shirt cause she thought it looked cool. The text I got was… kinda similar.”

Gold raised his brow and felt his mouth twitch up into a smirk. Good thing Neal seemed too embarrassed to look at him and notice.

“I was just yanking her chain,” he explained.

“You wouldn’t even yank a dog’s chain, son.”

“Yeah alright, back to _your_ massive mistake,” Neal sighed, treating him to another eye roll. “I think you get it now. You should go apologize.”

“Right now?” he asked, feeling his heart rate rise at the mere suggestion.

“Why not?”

Fair point. Terrifying, but fair.

“Should I call her first?”

Neal shrugged and made a face and a clueless sound deep in his throat, and suddenly Gold wondered why was he soliciting his poor sixteen-year-old son for advice in the first place, and why he couldn’t seem to _stop_.

“Should I get her flowers from the gas station?” he pondered out loud as he stood up from his desk for the first time in an hour at least.

“You’re asking me if you should spend some more money on her before you go apologize for spending money on her?”

Gold blinked. “No. No, I’m not.”

“Good. Go. I won’t wait up.”

On his way out of the room, Gold ruffled Neal’s hair, to his boy’s vocal dismay. In his car, his hands were clammy on the steering wheel and his heart was in his throat, but that meant nothing. It was time to risk it.

…

Belle didn’t have that many sad songs in her music collection and there was nothing on TV, so her studio was silent that night until her phone rang and made her peek out from under the blanket she’d curled up under on her bed. She’d lost her phone under her pillow. She groaned, turned on her belly and stretched to retrieve it without moving too far from her comfortable spot. The screen showed an unknown number. Belle bit her lip, both disappointed and relieved.

“Hello?”

“Hi. Is this Belle?”

A mumbling voice, not too deep, vaguely familiar somehow.

“And who’s this?”

“It’s Neal. Remember me?”

“Neal? I… Y-Yeah, of course I remember you,” she stammered.

“Dad gave me your number and address in case there was an emergency while he was with you and I couldn’t reach him on his phone for some reason.”

“Are you alright?” she asked, struggling to sound normal as she scrambled up from her bed in a sudden flash of panic. “Do you need help?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Is your dad alright?”

“Kind of. I mean, he’s terminally clueless, but nothing happened if that’s what you mean.”

Sighing in relief, Belle let herself sit back down on the edge of her bed.

“What’s on your mind?” she asked, trying to sound as natural as she could despite the novel awkwardness of chatting with a kid whose father she’d done unmentionable things with in the very bed she was moping in.

Now that it was dark out, she could see her reflection in the window. A bit of a shock still to see her bleached hair, a few inches shorter now. After she stormed out of the pawn shop yesterday, Belle drove straight to the place she’d always gotten her hair dyes before and came out with a plastic bag full of options. In her bathroom, she’d taken a pair of scissors to her hair and carefully took off a few inches - not too much, because she liked her hair long, but enough for it to feel like a decision. A choice.

“Neal? What did you want to talk about?”

“Sorry. I was thinking.”

She wondered if he knew what had happened between them.

“God, this is awkward,” Neal muttered. Belle nodded in silent agreement. “I guess I… I just… I wanted to tell you that my dad can be a huge idiot, even though he’s really smart. He has way too much money and this stupid compulsive need to take care of people whether they want him to or not, cause it makes him feel good about himself.”

Belle’s eyes grew wider. He knew, and she didn’t know how to feel about that.

“O-Okay…”

“So he’s like… like a cunning jerk and a devoted idiot at the same time. Does that make sense?”

Belle frowned and pulled her blanket back over her legs. She wasn’t cold. It was just comforting. “I think so,” she said, scrunching the fabric of her blanket in her hand.

“I’m not gonna ask you to let him get away with anything. I just wanna tell you that he’ll learn from this. It took me really long to realize I could call him out on his crap, but once I started doing it, he really listened.”

Was he trying to put a good word in for his dad? Was that what he was trying to do, the boy who’d looked so shocked to see her with his father that day in the back of his shop? The one who’d called her a girl, not a woman, and looked at her as if she was wearing a clown costume?

“I appreciate you calling me up like this, Neal. I really do. You’re sweet. But -”

“No, I get it. It’s not me you need to talk to. He’s on his way to apologize.”

“Wait, now?” said Belle, jumping up from her bed.

“Actually, I was gonna give you a heads up earlier,” he started, sounding suddenly embarrassed, “but then I… said all that other stuff first. Sorry.”

“Oh. No, it’s alright. I appreciate it.”

“Please don’t tell him I called you.”

Belle frowned and countered, “Only if you tell him yourself later,” because bloody _hell_ , what was the gene those two shared that made them so comfortable with secrets?

“Alright,” Neal mumbled. “I guess that’s fair. Deal.”

“Hey, Neal. It means a lot that you called me. I thought you kinda… didn’t want to even think about me. And I get it! I don’t blame you for how you reacted. I’m just surprised.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s been awkward and weird so far, and it’s actually still a little weird, but the thing is, my dad’s been really good since he met you. He needs people to care about. Brings out the best in him. Usually, anyway… And you’re pretty cool, I guess.”

“Thank you,” said Belle, her lips twisting in what she wasn’t sure was a crying face or a smile. “I think you’re pretty cool too.”

“Cool. Bye.”

“Bye Neal.”

She wasn’t even sure if he’d heard that at all; the phone beeped to signal the end of the conversation right in the middle of his name. Fan of quick exits, that kid. But Belle didn’t blame him one bit for that either.

With a stifled groan of frustration, Belle fell limp to her bed and buried her face in her pillow. What had she gotten herself into? A devoted idiot. A cunning jerk. A man with the protective instinct of a white knight and a way of going about it more suited for a soap opera villain. A man whose heart she’d been so worried about breaking that she’d completely forgotten to safeguard her own.

She was angry. She missed him, and she was so incredibly angry.

With the sliding door to the balcony open, Belle could hear the echo of his car come to a halt in front of the building. Then her phone rang. Her stomach felt very heavy as she put her trembling thumb over the button. She picked up, put the phone to her ear, bit her lip and walked out onto the balcony. It was still warm outside. The thick layer of clouds kept the day’s heat from drifting away.

“Belle?”

She couldn’t believe she’d missed his stupid gorgeous voice when it had said such horrifying things with such terrifying ease. She frowned, licked her lips, took a deep breath and replied, “Yeah.”

“Belle, sweetheart,” he sighed. “If I came over, would you let me in so we could talk?”

“Why would I do that?” she muttered. Every time she thought of what he’d done, what he couldn’t undo, her stomach tightened and her face was forced into a scowl.

But she _missed_ him.

“I want to apologize to you. Properly, now that I’ve rubbed my two braincells together and thought about what I did. Please, let me apologize. That’s all I ask.”

Belle gave second chances. That was what she always did. But it had never been this scary. This big. If she let him in, and Neal was wrong, and he didn’t get it, and his words didn’t take away that heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach that made her want to cry all day and all night, then what? Could she really be that brave?

“I suppose you could come up. I’ll buzz you in.”

“How did you know I was -”

“Lucky guess. Come up.”

The sound of his footsteps on the creaky staircase had always made her smile before. Now it made her anxious. Her fingers shook a little as she undid the chain on the door. She wanted to crack the door open before he made it to her floor so she could move away to stand at a safe distance before he walked in. Safe from what, she didn’t know. But she felt the need, so she did it.

The door creaked open, and there he was, in a grey shirt without the other needless layers. No waistcoat, no jacket. He paused in the middle of closing the door, probably because he’d only just noticed her bleached hair. But he did a good job of not showing his feelings on the new look. When the surprise in his wide eyes faded away, there was only guilt.

“Hello, Belle. Thank you for seeing me.”

His voice was deep and dry. She found herself mute in response, so she wrapped her arms around herself and hoped it looked like a statement. He held his cane in front of him, both hands tight around the golden handle, his face grave and annoyingly beautiful as always.

“I’m sorry,” he said once he realized she wasn’t going to be much help to him just yet. “I’m so sorry for what I put you through. The lying, the patronizing - everything I did was wrong. What I said back in the shop to try and justify it, that was just… That was unacceptable. I knowingly went against your wishes. I meddled, I -”

“You asked me to trust you!” she blurted, the words coming to her from out of nowhere. “That night I told you I was worried about Neal, you asked me to trust you. You _asked_ me to, and I did. And then you broke my trust like it meant nothing to you at all.”

He paled, his mouth slack, his tongue darting out to moisten his lips.

“I didn’t… I didn’t think of that. That’s terrible,” he stammered, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. That just makes things… I’m sorry.”

Belle’s own words came easy now. They burned in her chest, and they resonated within her, and when she said each of them out loud it felt like she was dropping boulder after useless boulder of concentrated tension to the floor.

“You made me feel like a fool for trusting you. All the while you were scheming, I didn’t even know I was falling until you dropped me. Do you know how terrifying that was?”

Her hands were no longer trembling, her arms now limp at her sides.

“Yes. I… Belle, really, I’m so sorry,” he repeated, helplessly shaking his head. He shuffled closer, his cane tapping hollow on her floor. “I understand. It was calculating of me. It was wrong. I wish I hadn’t done any of it.”

“But you did! And for no good reason! You knew I would have gotten the job eventually! I was _managing_. I had everything under control.”

“Yes,” he said, nodding frantically. “You did. I won’t lie; what I did made me feel good about myself, when it should have made me feel the opposite, and I’m sorry for that. For everything. For going behind your back, and for not getting it. For making it worse. I want you to be able to trust me, and when I think about losing you I feel sick, I…”

Halfway through his speech, his voice had gotten shakier and his knuckles whiter as he clutched the handle of his cane in his large hands. She hadn’t seen him this fraught before. It was a sight that threatened to soften her in the moment, but she couldn’t let it. Not yet.

“I’d understand if you wanted nothing to do with me anymore,” he continued, his voice deep and a little bit hoarse. “But whatever you choose, I will never betray your trust again, I promise I -”

“No!”

Suddenly her fingers were in her hair and her eyes were clenched shut. What Belle really wanted to do was cover her ears and maybe scream to drown him out, but she was not a child. When she opened her eyes again, she saw him staring at her with wide eyes, startled by her interruption. Her heart was beating so hard Belle pictured it bruising the inside of her ribcage. 

“Don’t promise me anything right now,” she said softly, pulling her fingers out of her hair and letting her arms drop again.

“Then… can I tell you what I realized today?”

He came a little closer, approached her like she was a wild animal with fangs and claws exposed. She nodded - or thought she did; he didn’t seem to notice.

“Belle? Can I?”

“Yes.”

He was holding his cane a little looser now. He stared down at his hands, his hair falling in front of his face for a moment. And when he looked up again, he looked somehow serene.

“You don’t just deserve nice things. You deserve someone you can trust completely. Someone who will always respect you, not just when it suits him. I want that to be me. And today I realized that I have no excuse not to be that person if somehow… it’s still me you want.”

As if spellbound, Belle could do nothing but stand there, taking shallow breaths because her chest was already full of feelings and words, and there was practically no room for air. But none of the words wanted out anymore. All but a few that were big and insurmountable, lodged in her throat, holding back everything else.

“I would do anything to fix this and make everything better again. I want to make up for it. Please tell me how I can do that.”

“You can’t,” she managed to mutter through the tight feeling in her throat. “I just have to forgive you.”

They fell silent. The rest of the building around them didn’t. Outside, crickets chirped and distant drunkards sang, but in this room that smelled of mown grass from the field outside her window and the fresh batch of chai she made earlier, nothing made a sound until with a sad nod and a muttered goodbye, he turned and headed towards the door. Her heart skipped a terrified beat.

“Where are you going?” she called out, eyebrows knitted closely together, her lower lip trembling.

“Belle…”

His hand was on the door handle. Her stomach was twisting itself into thousands of impossible knots, each tighter than the one before it. She wanted to cry.

“Why would you leave?” she asked, quieter now, sounding frail.

“B-Because I hurt you. Because I can’t make it better.”

“No, don’t _leave_ , you…”

He dropped his hand from the door handle and looked at her with great confusion.

He didn’t understand. He didn’t know. He didn’t feel it radiate out from the very center of her being like she felt it from him whenever he smiled at her. Was that not the saddest thing? Part of her wanted to rush to him, but her body stayed frozen and put. She swallowed and bit her tongue just once as if to loosen it.

“I’m in love with you,” she said, her voice deep and steady as she could make it with her entire body wanting to shake with love and fear and anger. “I wouldn’t be this hurt if I wasn’t in love with you, and you want to leave right now?”

His eyes had gone big and fluttered frantically over her face, his mouth was slack and nothing came out of it for a while. There was wetness on her cheeks all of the sudden and it surprised her, but she didn’t care. Holding back had never gotten her anywhere.

“No,” finally came his soft, fragile answer. “I don’t want to leave.”

She could breathe again, suddenly. She moved to her couch and fell down, pulling her legs up with her and hugging them tight to her chest. After a bit of helpless staring, he followed and carefully sat down on the coffee table in front of her. He kept his cane between his legs and folded his hands over it.

“Belle,” he started in a hoarse murmur. “What you just said…”

“I don’t say things I don’t mean,” she mumbled into her knees.

Her tears had soaked through the thin fabric of her pajama pants and felt hot on her skin.

“Even -”

“Yes,” she cut in.

His shaky relieved sigh was heartbreaking, the look in his eyes almost too much for her to bear. Belle had never felt so many feelings at once before, and she wasn’t used to half of them. Anger was practically a stranger to her, for one. Sadness was a little more familiar. And she thought she knew love, but this was a thousand times more intense than anything she’d ever felt before, and it was terrifying. She tried to breathe calmly, deeply, in and out, out with the things that were making her shake to make room for air.

“Belle, I love you too,” he rasped. “I’m so incredibly in love with you.”

_Then why?_ was what she wanted to ask, scream, paint in bright red paint on every surface in the room, because he hadn’t shocked her just now. She’d known for a while. She’d felt it ever since he held her close and kissed her wet hair as she wept in the back of his car.

Maybe she ought to ask him just that. Maybe -

His stifled sob nearly escaped her attention, lost as she was in the maelstrom of her own emotions. She snapped her head up to look at him, forlorn on her coffee table, his lips twisted and trembling. His eyes had filled to the brim with tears, and when they toppled over and ran down his cheeks, he turned away to soak them up with the sleeve of his shirt.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked, shaking his head. He slumped forwards, shoulders hunched, head down. He was trying to make himself disappear. “I shouldn’t. Stupid of me.”

“Don’t apologize for that. Sit next to me.”

He put his cane on the table and joined her on the couch instead, keeping a bit of distance between. He kept his hands folded in his lap. Belle’s were still clasped around her legs as she hugged them tight. She stared ahead at her cheap TV though the screen was black. She didn’t know where else to look. She didn’t know anything in that moment, least of all why she wanted to pull him to her chest and hold him there forever, why she wanted to yell at him and make him understand just how hurt she was, too. She couldn’t do either of those things separately because they didn’t feel right, and she certainly couldn’t do them at the same time, so she did nothing instead.

“This isn’t the way I imagined I’d tell you,” he mumbled not much louder than the crickets outside, ending his sentence with a sniffle.

“Yeah. I can imagine.”

“And that’s my fault. I made a mess.”

Carefully, Belle broke her staring contest with the television and glanced over at him. Equally careful, or perhaps even more, he glanced back. When their looks crossed, something happened. She didn’t feel as heavy as before. The anger had stopped simmering, the fear had made place for determination and calm.

She felt everything else she felt for him much more keenly now.

“Do you want to clean it up?”

“Yes,” he replied without delay. “I know I can’t undo what I did, but she’s moving out soon. The rent’s going back to normal after that. Does that help a bit, at least?”

“What’s going to help is you’re going to let me pay you back the difference.”

There were deep lines in his forehead now. Predictable - he wanted to argue. Belle knew he did because he was a clever man and he knew not to. That was why he’d gotten so quiet all of the sudden.

“Don’t pout. That’s non-negotiable,” she insisted, eyebrows raised in challenge. “We can’t try to make it work if you don’t let me pay you back.”

A boyish look of wonder and hope made the creases in his forehead disappear. “You want to… try?”

Before replying, Belle bit the inside of her cheek to the point of pain so that his puppy-eyed charm wouldn’t melt away the edge to her that she sorely needed for this conversation. She had to be hard for this.

“Only if you let me pay you back.”

He nodded, swallowing his objections with all the grace of a toddler swallowing a spoonful of mashed broccoli.

“I won’t ever let you play me like that anymore,” she added, hugging her legs a little tighter.

“Yes, of course,” he said with a serious nod. “I wouldn’t expect you to.”

He was hanging on her lips, swallowing her every word. His eager eyes were wide and fixed to hers, almost unblinking. He was waiting for more.

“And no more creative interpretations of what I say just so you can do whatever you want. I’m not setting up any more rules. You’re not a child, and I shouldn’t even have to be doing this in the first place.”

“Understood.”

“Tell me what I mean so I know you truly understand.”

He straightened his back, put his hands on his thighs and began, “I’ll follow both the spirit and the letter of the law. No loopholes. No ambiguities. I won’t play dumb.”

Belle stared at him hard, eyes narrowed in scrutiny, but really, she was pleased with the answer. It was just that there was one more thing. One last terrifying thing she wasn’t ready to hear before now.

“And you won’t betray my trust like that again.”

When she heard her own voice, she thought it fainter than she would have liked it to be, but she couldn’t help it. It was too important. It was what he was going to promise her before, when she wasn’t ready to hear it. Belle needed it now. She’d made it sound like a statement, but in reality, her heart was begging for it.

“Never again.”

She bit her lip, held his stare, and nodded.

“Then we can try.”

With a little sob disguised as a relieved sigh, he brushed his fingers through his hair in that nervous way of his that she loved so much. Belle sighed too, letting her arms slip and fall so her feet could move to the floor instead. She looked at him, and he smiled a vulnerable smile that faded in and out.

“Thank you.”

“I’m still upset,” she said softly, realizing she couldn’t smile back.

A warm touch on her hand made her glance down. His little finger touched her thumb.

“I understand. Do you want me to leave?”

“No.”

“Can I ask you why?”

Because the rage had gone and now she was just tired and a little bit sad, and when she was sad, she didn’t want to be alone. Jefferson was probably putting Grace to bed, and even if he could come over and talk to her, he would only want to talk about what had happened. She was too tired for that. She didn’t know Ruby well enough yet, and this wasn’t the time to get that ball rolling.

And because she ran too far last time he slipped up, and she wished she hadn’t, even though she knew this wouldn’t make up for that.

Because they’d just told each other they were in love, and it wasn’t fair that it wasn’t the perfect moment it should have been.

Because she just wanted him to stay.

“Do you want to leave?” Belle asked, ignoring his question. “You can if you have to. I understand if you need to get back to Neal. I wouldn’t hold it against you.”

“I don’t want to leave. And don’t worry about Neal. He’s always glad to see the back of me, that one.”

Belle felt her mouth twitch. The fragile beginnings of a smile. If only he’d heard the love in his son’s voice the way Belle had on the phone earlier. She would tell him all about it, once Neal confessed. Or in a week. She’d give the kid a week.

“You were helping, you know. You bought me coffee and lunch, and I didn’t even complain about it. Mostly. And after that night in your car, I knew I could talk to you about anything. That’s _so_ important.”

He looked a little bit doubtful like he did when she’d stated that one crucial demand earlier. But Belle didn’t want to scold anymore. She was too tired, too empty. A different tack then, maybe, she thought to herself as she shifted a bit to face him better.

“And then it turned out you give great head, and that was amazing stress relief.”

He bared his teeth in an embarrassed grin and huffed a deep laugh, shaking his head. “I didn’t even come close to returning the favor, love.”

Belle bit down on her smile as she remembered the whiny little sounds he’d made when she introduced him to that particular benefit of the tongue piercing.

“The thing is, I just need you to support me, and you were already doing that. You were doing more than enough.”

“I didn’t think I was,” he confessed with a weak nod, turning to face her more, like she had. “But that’s my problem, and I shouldn’t have made it yours. It’s something I need to work on. I know that now, and I will.”

“I know,” she said, believing it utterly and completely as she reached out to touch the back of his cool hand for a moment. He smiled down at where their hands touched.

They let the crickets chirp their song for a while, the pair of them a little tired and lost. She could make tea, Belle thought to herself. Tea would be perfect. But just as she was about to ask him if he wanted a cup, he broke the silence.

“You were a bit more blonde than expected when I walked in.”

His cheeky grin was infectious, and as she laughed, Belle began to feel a little bit lighter still. Not completely. That would take her a while, she knew. But she was patient, and for now, it felt good to laugh.

“It’s not staying. I was gonna dye it.”

“What color were you thinking?”

“Haven’t made up my mind yet. I got brown, black and blue. What do you think?”

“Hmm.”

Putting on a pensive look, he let his eyes travel all over her face, her neck, then her hair like he was supposed to in the first place. Belle had missed his appreciative gaze, though. She didn’t mind. The whites of his eyes were still a little bit red, she noticed.

“Enough blue to dye all of it,” he asked, “or just for the streak?”

Belle’s absent smile faltered in her bewilderment.

“All of it,” she said softly, one eyebrow raised.

His only response was a meaningful little smile that lured out her own and helped make up her mind.

“D’you wanna help?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The length and structure of this chapter brought to you by: my unwillingness to end anything on too sad a note.


	14. Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blue hair, breakfast, and being better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your comments and kudos! This is a relatively shorter chapter because I've had to split it in two.

To be told that he was loved when he had hurt her most, to be asked to stay even though it took her great and obvious effort to return his smiles - surely there had never been a doghouse this forgiving before.

Belle had dyed her own hair many times, so his part in the ritual was minimal. He was mostly there to hand her the things she needed and to look for missed spots. She handed him brush only once so he could cover the roots at the back of her head, a spot a bit finicky for her to reach. It took much longer than he would have guessed, sitting on a towel on the floor of her tiny bathroom with the frosted window cracked open to let the intense chemical smell of hair dye escape. They went through quite an impressive amount of it, too. She did have a lot of hair to cover, even with those few inches chopped off.

When every strand of hair was covered and all of that startling pale blonde had disappeared under a layer of deep blue goop, Gold decided to make them tea to get them through the wait. As he waited for the water to boil in her kitchen, Belle sat up very gingerly on her couch so as not to stain it blue. She wore a black bath towel over her shoulders like a cape for a make-believe queen.

“I thought you were bluffing,” she said, observing him from her dark green velveteen throne.

“Bluffing? What do you mean?”

“I thought you really wanted it brown. You know, normal.”

Gold frowned to himself as he dropped three sugars into her empty mug. The kettle whistled.

“Brown’s lovely on you,” he said, pouring the hot water into their mugs, “but I’m surprised you think I’d prefer normalcy over everything else.”

“You’re more traditional than you think you are, and blue hair is pretty drastic.”

“Grass green would be drastic, I think. Not blue so much. Blue is a calming color.”

 _And you seem to love it,_ he thought to himself as he carried their mugs over to to the couch and carefully sat down.

“You’ve never seen me with blue hair,” she argued, taking one of the steaming hot mugs from him. “How would you know if it’s drastic or not?” She held her tea close to her chest, unbothered by the heat, slowly stirring her spoon through crumbling sugar cubes.

“I have. You showed me that picture of you and Jefferson ages ago. Your hair was blue, and you had it up. Did you forget?”

“Oh,” she mouthed, her eyes a bit bigger for just a moment. “No, I remember now. I did show you. In my notebook, right?”

“Yeah. You looked like some sort of magical river sprite.”

_And happy._

Belle stopped blowing on her tea to flicker a little smile.

“River sprite… I like that. I doubt it, but I like it. I lost the original. I know it’s still around somewhere, but I used it as a bookmark. Can’t remember which book.”

Gold knew Belle liked to read the books she had already read; he had faith that it would turn up some day. Glancing at her work-in-progress hair, he asked her, “This is a darker blue, isn’t it?”

“Mm,” she replied with a thoughtful nod. “I hope it works.”

“I think it will. A darker tone will probably make your eyes stand out even more. Should be lovely.”

She peered at him over the rim of her mug, slurping a tiny little sip.

“Have you been moonlighting as a colorist?” she asked, raising a single eyebrow.

Gold nodded very seriously.

“Mhm. I’ll be mailing you the bill soon. You’ll find my rates are more than reasonable.”

Her quick polite smile made him suddenly and sharply aware of how fragile she still was. He understood then that it may have been a strangely luxurious doghouse, but he was in the doghouse nonetheless. If Gold were a weaker man, a man less determined and in love, he might have fled with his tail between his legs already. Then he wouldn’t have to feel the sting of all that pain he could see in her eyes when she thought he wasn’t looking.

But he preferred this. Maybe if he stayed here, she wouldn’t change her mind about him. And if it hurt, it was only because he deserved it.

“What made you change your mind?” he asked, holding his mug in his cold hands, hoping to warm them. “You said you probably wouldn’t dye it blue again.”

“I guess… I was thinking about Neal when I said that. But I’m not worried about that anymore.”

She stared ahead with a distant look in her eyes, and for a moment there, he thought he spied a twitch at the corner of her mouth. Might it be a smile less brittle than the ones she had been forcing herself to give him? Or was that wishful thinking?

“I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear that,” he said, putting his mug to his lips.

Their eyes met when they were both mid-sip, but hot steam rising up from his tea made him blink rapidly and then shut his eyes. When he opened them again, Belle was reaching for the remote control on the coffee table, that earlier hint of a smile nowhere to be found.

“Half an hour at least, and then I’ll rinse it out,” she decided as she flicked through channel after channel.

“Will you need my help with that?”

“Nah. Quick shower. Won’t take too long.”

Together, they watched the second half of a documentary he’d already seen before. Some dull but flashily filmed National Geographic thing about lightning. When her tea had gone and the credits rolled, Belle disappeared into the bathroom, leaving him behind with just the television for company. Ah, but also his phone, Gold remembered with a sudden start. He took it from his pocket and texted Neal as quickly as he could:

_Still working things out, apology went well, thanks for talk_

The reply, when it came, simply read: _Don’t mess up_ \- a charmingly simple piece of advice.

Feeling uncomfortable suspended in uncertainty - Why did she want him there? - Gold didn’t pay that much attention to the documentary about beavers that followed the one about lightning. Instead he leaned back, listened to the sound of the water hitting her shower floor and imagined all of that blue dripping from her hair and circling the drain.

He remembered the weight of her head on his shoulder in his bathtub, her soft wet skin against his, and he knew then that he wouldn’t be feeling that for a while. Even when their fingers innocently touched as she handed him the little bowl of blue dye earlier, it had felt like an intrusion. Not that she’d reacted to it at all. Perhaps it was just him. Perhaps he had just deemed himself unworthy of it now. Perhaps that was why he found it so difficult to believe that she wanted him here; he didn’t think he deserved to be.

Because he’d almost ruined everything beyond repair. He’d steered them straight towards what should have been certain disaster. Had it not been for Belle’s kindness and frankly inhuman capacity for forgiveness, he would have been in pieces right now. He would have been lost.

He sighed so deeply he almost worried she had overheard in the shower and sank further down in his seat, forcing himself to focus on the television instead of the unpleasant pressure in his chest and throat. The beavers were building a dam. Cute little waddly things for sure, but if those tough teeth got through wood that easily, bone wouldn’t pose much of a problem either, and if he ever ran into one in a dark alley at night, Gold suspected he would slowly and respectfully turn around and take the long way home instead. Belle would likely confront it and invite it in for tea.

Shortly after her shower stopped, he heard the familiar wheeze of her hairdryer starting up. The one she’d used on him a few times, combing through his hair with her fingers, soothing him so thoroughly and sweetly it made him want to pick her up and drag her to her bed for a nap. And she was right; it didn’t take her too long at all to come back out of the bathroom with a head full of fluffy dark blue hair, the sight of which made him sit up straight as a board and quietly, reverently gasp, “That is _brilliant_.”

“Yeah?” she peeped, a tentative smile curling her lips as she moved a little bit closer.

“Oh, absolutely. It’s dark, but it’s still very blue. Do you like it?”

“Yeah, I think I do.” She used her fingers into her hair to loosen the curls, pushing it up as if for a bun. “It’ll take some getting used to, but I think I’m really pleased with it.”

“The color’s a bit like… like on a satellite image where the ocean’s very deep,” he mumbled more to himself than to her.

When she let her hair cascade back down to her shoulders, he was transfixed. It was also a little bit like the color of the night sky right above your head when the sun was about half an hour from rising. Her eyes were twin ice planets in that comparison, but he decided to keep that to himself. Especially since she was already giving him a quietly amused look that would have made him blush were he not a grown man.

“Can you see if we missed a spot?” she asked, and before he could ask her what she meant exactly, Belle sat down cross-legged on the floor with her back against the couch, right in between his legs.

He didn’t know what to do. He made a dumb sound he quickly covered up with a needless cough and slowly began to realize that it was true, then. She didn’t mind if he touched her. It was alright. It was just him.

“Just check if everything’s covered,” she clarified, sensing his hesitance but not his exact reason. “You know, like the roots and everything.”

“Oh. Alright.”

Slowly, with the very tip of his tongue peeking out from between his lips in concentration, Gold touched her hair with his fingertips. He forgot to actually do what she’d asked him to for a moment.

“It’s soft,” he murmured, not really meaning to say it out loud.

“That’s the conditioner. Probably shouldn’t have blowdried it, but I was sick of it being wet. Got a little impatient.”

He took the section of hair that often fell in front of her face on windy days between his fingers, and she tilted and twisted her head a little bit so he could see better. He lifted it, saw that everything seemed perfectly covered there, rubbed the strands gently between the pads of his fingers and let them fall back down like grains of sand.

And so he set to work on the left half of her hair first, leaning over her and her sea of blue in search of missed spots. He parted her hair, lifted it, handled the softness with great care. Belle let him move her head around very gently when needed, and at some point her eyes slid shut like a big blue kitten napping in a puddle of sunshine on the floor. It seemed to soothe her as much as it soothed him.

For a while.

“I’m sorry for asking you if you lied about your dad.”

It had been a while since either of them had said anything, and though she had only spoken softly, Gold was startled by her words. The joints of his fingers locked into place, and his mouth opened and closed like a fish on dry land, but nothing came out. It was only the shock of her bright eyes seeking out his over her shoulder that unfroze him. Thinking about that moment in the pawn shop brought back the well-deserved papercut sting of her words, but he didn’t know why she was apologizing for it, and it made him feel uneasy. 

“Please don’t apologize,” he pleaded, gently guiding her head back and down so he could check the hair at the back of her head. “I don’t blame you for doubting… everything.”

“But I didn’t actually think you lied about him. Not really. I was…”

Her voice dried up before she could finish. She sighed deeply, her head dipping a little bit lower still. That was fine. He could get to the hair at the nape of her neck easier that way. With a bit of luck, she’d never finish her sentence either. They could move on from this and he wouldn’t have to think about it anymore. He wouldn’t have to figure out how he felt about it.

“I was really upset and I wanted to make a point,” she continued. “I said it in anger and I shouldn’t have.”

“No. I needed to hear it. Doesn’t matter why you said it.”

“It matters to me. And I wanna say I’m sorry, so just… I’m sorry.”

An unnecessary apology was easier to swallow than her demand that he let her pay him back. He still wasn’t sure how he was going to handle the latter, actually. He would just probably never check his bank statements ever again and pretend it hadn’t happened.

“I don’t agree that you did anything wrong, but alright, love. I hear you.”

“Your reaction doesn’t surprise me. I’ve been thinking about what you told me about your father that night, and there was something you said that’s been bothering me.”

“What’s that?”

He sank his fingers into her hair, sliding them in at the base of her neck and all the way up so the back of her head fit in the palm of his hand. Even the little hairs at her nape were beautifully blue.

“I said your father used you. And you said… you said you used him too, like that’s the same thing, but it wasn’t. It could never be the same thing.”

He swallowed a knot in his throat and let a few locks of her hair tumble back down to fall over her shoulders.

“You were a kid in an unfair situation. You used the skills you had to get out.”

“I knew that what I was doing was wrong.”

“But what you were doing was all you knew. It was all he let you know. Getting out of there took strength and character no-one should expect from a teenager.”

“Never looked at it like that before,” he muttered, brow deeply furrowed as he let her hair slip from his his fingers completely.

He knew he didn’t sound convinced. He felt terrible that he wasn’t. He wished he was. He knew she _wanted_ him to. It was distracting him from his task; he thought he’d spotted a bit where the blue was not as dark, but now his fingers were unsteady and he’d lost it.

And Belle saw right through him, even with her back turned to him.

“That’s fine. I know it’s not easy to stop blaming yourself. I’m not that good at it either. I just… I just wonder if anyone’s ever told you that not everything has to be your fault.”

It was killing him, this kindness. It didn’t agree with him. It twisted his insides, made him bite down on his tongue until his eyes watered and he forced out the words, “But this is.”

A beat of silence. And then a calm, “Yes. This is. That doesn’t mean everything else is.”

Ah, there it was. Right there, right in the middle, covered up by the rest of her hair, was a spot of paler blue no bigger than a fingernail.

“There’s a tiny little patch here that’s a little bit paler, but I don’t think anyone’s going to see.”

“What if you put it in a ponytail?” she asked, kindly letting him slip away from the conversation they were actually having.

He gathered her hair into a makeshift ponytail by raking his fingers through it. “It doesn’t show. It’s just a spot right in the middle,” he said, and he pressed his fingertip lightly against her scalp so she could feel exactly where it was. “It’s covered up.”

“That’s alright, then.”

He let go of her hair and brushed it over her left shoulder - one last justified touch before the unknown. She began to get up, hooking her arms over his legs and lifting herself with a cute little groan of effort. She made sure to keep most of her weight on his good leg as she pushed herself up. He sort of wished she hadn’t.

“Thank you for helping,” she said, smiling one of those devastating smiles that spoke of endless empathy and affection but felt as fragile as the flame of a candle in a storm.

The worry and the anxiety were both at their most intense, now. Was this the beginning of the end of their evening? Did she want him to leave now? If he left, would she change her mind about them? Would she look in the mirror to admire her brand new hair and realize that she could and should do much, much better than him?

“More tea?” he rushed just as she opened her mouth to speak.

She truly studied him then, her eyes moving slowly over his face for a few tense beats of silence.

“Do you want to go home?”

He shook his head, holding her questioning gaze until she pursed her lips and nodded.

“I’ll put the kettle on,” she said.

“Belle?” he called out just as she made a move to walk away towards the kitchen.

“Hm?”

She glanced over her shoulder first, but then when he took a little too long to speak, she turned around to face him completely. Her stare thawed his tongue.

“You really shouldn’t let me stay if it’s only to try and make me feel better, love.”

She pressed her lips into a strict line for a moment, her eyebrows twitching into a frown.

“I’m trying to make me feel better.”

There was that raw hurt again, that soreness just under the thin surface of calm coating her words. He nodded in understanding, and her smile came back as if by magic.

“Tea,” she said with a nod of her own, and when she moved to the kitchen with the fabric of her pajama pants dragging on the linoleum, the edge to her was hidden underneath her softness again.

After they drank their tea, she let him sleep in her bed. Not her couch. Not his own bed in his own house. Not the literal doghouse he would have chopped down a tree for and nailed together with his bare hands and his shoe for a hammer if she’d asked him to. No, _her_ bed, with her sleeping body curled up next to his restless body and her hands under her pillow, breathing peacefully.

He found it difficult to close his eyes until she rolled over in her sleep to lie facing the window instead. After what felt like hours of staring at the back of his eyelids, he did fall asleep for a while. About an hour or two, it felt like. But the rising sun and the screaming seagulls soaring over the field outside her balcony soon conspired to rob him even of that, and he was awake again before her alarm had gone off.

Those birds were making quite the racket. He lifted his head very carefully and glanced at the alarm clock on her night stand. Ten minutes before that would start making hellish noises too. Belle had to leave for work soon, but he could afford to go home for a shower and a bowl of Neal’s cereal before heading to the shop. Perhaps if he was very quiet, he could get breakfast ready before she woke. Gold knew that if she had changed her mind overnight, breakfast in bed wouldn’t do much to sway her once more. He was not that good a cook, and Belle was not that weak willed. But that was no reason not to make her breakfast, was it?

She didn’t stir when he got out of bed, nor when he took his clothes and got dressed in her living area, folding her borrowed band shirt neatly on the coffee table. Then he opened her fridge very slowly and braced himself for the sight of another wasteland, but it was fully stocked now. Now there was even a little potted chive plant on the counter near the sink. Fresh vegetables, butter, eggs, milk, cheese, those tiny little bottles of yoghurt drinks the point of which he’d never understood, and, he noticed with a little smile, a half eaten cup of chocolate pudding. He could manage a decent cheese and mushroom omelet with what was in there.

The pan sizzled so loudly he only heard Belle’s soft shuffling footsteps on the linoleum when she was already pulling back a chair at her little kitchen table. He spun around, spatula in hand and his heart in his throat.

“Morning,” she said, giving a sleepy smile and running her fingers through her newly blue hair. “Kind of impossible to make a sneaky breakfast in a place this small.”

“Sorry. I’ll stop if you want to go back to sleep.”

“No, no,” she said, settling down in her seat. “I’m hungry and this smells much better than cereal.”

She put her elbows on the table and cupped her face in her hands, watching him with her eyes still a little small from sleep, but alert.

“Meant to be a surprise,” he mumbled, turning back to the stove. “Definitely not an alarm.”

“That’s alright. I’ve had my fill of surprises for the time being.”

His face fell and a chill ran down his spine. When he glanced over his shoulder, he found her sporting the most serene little smile, and he could breathe again. He could even smile back. Just a joke. It was just a bloody joke, and he had to relax before he burned her breakfast or turned her off him after all by being a nervous wreck. Not a man.

“Heh. Yes, I suppose you have.”

“Did you sleep well?”

“I slept fine.”

“Good.”

Suddenly, inexplicably, he felt as if he’d been slammed in the stomach. He turned the stove off lightning quick and blurted, “No I didn’t. I didn’t sleep well.”

“Alright,” Belle replied, sounding confused.

With unsteady hands, Gold folded the omelet and slid it from the pan onto a plate. He’d meant to garnish it with chives, but now he was too nervous.

“I’m eating at home,” he explained when he noticed her bright eyes dart around in search of his own omelet as he put hers in front of her. “And Neal doesn’t like Happy Bunny.”

“What?”

She stared at him with her face screwed up with befuddlement. He felt like an idiot, and unfortunately, to be specific: an unstoppable one. Some force deep inside of his chest was forcing out all of the words one by one, unfiltered and unchecked.

“When I bought that mug from you that day, you asked me if Neal was into that ridiculous rodent that was on it, and I said he was, but I lied. I didn’t even see it at first. I thought it was just a plain black mug. You were swamped with customers and you couldn’t help me find another CD that I could return next time. The mug was just an excuse to come back.”

Her shoulders shook just once. Was that a laugh?

“I know,” she said, one corner of her mouth pulling up in a smile that he nervously mirrored. “I _knew_.”

Of course. He turned away, fully intending to wash the pan before he left, but he just ended up spinning a full circle to face Belle again, because apparently, he wasn’t done yet.

“You asked me if I missed Scotland and I said no, but you kept pushing and you just looked _so_ convinced that I… I said yes. That was a lie.”

As she chewed, watching him intently, she slowly began to frown.

“Wait - what was the lie?”

“I lied when I said I missed it.”

“I still think you miss it. And what are you doing? Are you calibrating or something?”

“There’s more,” he continued, shaking his head. “I told you I wasn’t planning anything for your birthday, but I -”

She quickly raised her fork and shushed him.

“Don’t spoil it! It’s months away.”

His mouth had fallen open, his eyes the size of the mushrooms he’d cut up for her omelet.

“B-But you said never to get you anything big, and I said I wasn’t even thinking about it, but I was. I am.”

Belle sighed and let her head fall to her folded arms on the table, her hair narrowly missing her plate.

“As long as it’s not a house,” she mumbled into her arms before raising her head to look at him. “Or a car.”

She said that last thing with narrowed eyes, as if she _knew_. It had been on on his list, yes, but not anymore. Not after that look. Just the computer now.

“Not a car,” he sighed, leaning back against the counter, shoulders slumped. “And I wasn’t… calibrating. I know that nothing I just told you is even close to… to what I…”

Gold stopped his babbling and swallowed, clenching his eyes shut. Then he breathed in deep and tried to settle, which was difficult with a racing heart and a stomach in knots.

“And now you probably think I don’t know the difference, but I do.”

“I know you do.”

When he opened his eyes, she was smiling at him. Chewing and smiling. And it wasn’t the smile it used to be, but it was getting closer, and he knew he had to have faith. He had to stop bothering her with his guilt, at any rate; it was his to bear and his alone. Gold straightened his shoulders and bravely returned her smile.

“Will you drop by the shop later?” he asked her, pouring her the coffee he’d almost forgotten.

“Not today, I don’t think. I’ll bring lunch Friday.”

Gold distinctly remembered it being his turn to buy lunch, but he very wisely swallowed his objections. He held her mug of coffee in his hands, letting them soak up the heat.

“Then Friday, I’ll… I’ll show you the rent agreements. Old and new.”

Belle watched him closely as she absently prodded a piece of mushroom with her fork.

“You don’t have to show me. You can just tell me.”

“I’ve got all of the papers in the shop anyway. It’s no bother.”

Her lip went in between her teeth for a moment. Then she let out a soft sigh.

“Whatever you think is best.”

When her eyes drifted to his hands, he suddenly remembered.

“Oh, here’s your coffee,” he hurried with a nervous laugh, closing the distance between them to hand her her mug.

“Thank you. And thank you for breakfast too. It was delicious. I’m gonna go ahead and finish my coffee and then take a shower.”

Gold nodded in understanding. That was his cue.

“Then I’ll see you Friday?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He moved to fetch his cane from the coffee table where he'd left it the night before, but she’d pushed her chair back and rose before he could take a second step. Close now, she put her hand on his chest to stop him.

“Belle?”

She stood on her absolute tippy toes and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek. Gold was too shocked to return it, paralyzed in her warmth and the comforting smell of her bed and her conditioner. Her fingers pressed into his chest for a second as she smiled up at him.

“See you Friday.”

…

When Belle came into his shop that Friday, as promised, his heart was beating madly all the way up in his throat again until he saw her smile. The light behind her gave her blue hair a fascinating glow, and when he complimented her on it, she almost got a little flustered. It made his heart sing with hope - a very short song, however. There was unpleasant business to conduct, after all.

But the cake she’d brought made the rent conversation a bit more tolerable. The papers didn’t seem quite so serious with a few chocolate sprinkles scattered on top. As they drank their coffee at the little table in the courtyard behind his shop, he told her how he had spent a mere five minutes probing the mayor for any news regarding the town’s newspaper (“Why?” “Sidney’s in her pocket, poor sod.” “And the mayor’s in yours?” “No. I know who’s in her pocket.”) and how he had convinced the tenant in question - a kind grey-haired woman with an unplanned grandchild on the way - that he was merely trying to protect himself from some nebulous, undefined legal trouble by lowering her rent. He achieved this by feigning generosity, and a strategic touch of nerves. He agreed with Belle that it seemed ridiculously complicated, yes, but he couldn’t tell the woman the truth, and he couldn’t outright tell her the lie he wanted her to believe either. She wouldn’t believe him. No-one in their right mind would. (“Oh my God, your relationship with this town is so bloody weird!”)

By the time he'd told her everything, his chest felt less full of… everything, and his belly was full of cake and coffee.

“I appreciate you telling me everything,” Belle said, her mouth curled up in another one of the tentative half smiles that he now knew were meant to soothe him. That was when he noticed he was fidgeting with his napkin. He threw it on the table and folded his hands in his lap instead.

Luckily, the silence that followed his detailed confession did not last so long that it became unbearable. With the door to the back room wide open and there being very little traffic outside, Gold could hear the bell chime all the way in the front room. His first thought was that someone had rudely ignored the closed sign, so he made a move to stand up, but then suddenly he recognized the heavy footsteps nearing them.

“I think it’s Neal,” he warned Belle in an unnecessary whisper as she brushed the crumbs off the table for the birds to feast on later.

“Oh, alright!”

Gold raised an eyebrow. Alright? Really? Last time had been a complete disaster, and while they were in a much less… cozy position this time and Neal had had some time to get used to the idea of _them_ \- he even seemed pleased for him when he returned from her studio two mornings ago - this calm of hers was still a bit unexpected.

“Hey dad,” came Neal’s voice from the doorway.

Gold tore his eyes away from Belle’s strangely serene smile and looked over his shoulder to return his son’s greeting. But Neal wasn’t looking at him; he was looking at Belle. Just the tiniest bit terrified, Gold held his breath.

“Hi Belle,” Neal mumbled with a polite nod. “Good dye job.”

She burst into a proud grin and chirped back, “Thanks!”

“Dad won't let me dye mine,” Neal sighed. He aimed a pointed stare at him and folded his arms over his chest.

“Only because I've actually read your school dress code!” Gold argued, letting out the breath he’d saved up in suspense.

“Hello? Summer break. No-one cares.”

“That’s a good point, Neal,” Belle chimed in, shooting Gold a quick playful smirk that made his jaw drop.

“Right?”

Gold didn’t know what was happening, but it felt like a good thing, and he found himself smiling despite his complete confusion. As he listened to their back and forth, he felt like a confused dog following a tennis ball on a television screen. The tension ebbed, but the mystery only grew.

“What color were you thinking?” asked Belle, leaning back in her chair.

“I was just thinking of dyeing some of it a really dark red.”

“That would totally work. Random streaks, d’you reckon?”

“Not all over; I’d just do one big part, maybe in the front.”

“That would be pretty awesome. Y’know what else might work for you? Just a really pale blond.”

“Nah. It’d be cool but that’s my kinda my girlfriend’s - … my friend’s thing. She wouldn’t wanna… match.”

“Oh. No, I get it. The dark red sounds cooler anyway.”

“Actually, that’s why I’m here,” said Neal, finally turning to where Gold was currently trying to pick his jaw back up from the ground. “I was gonna hang out with Emma. Can I have some money for lunch?”

“Uh, course,” Gold muttered, blinking stupidly as he reached into his pocket and fished out the first bill his fingers found. “Here.”

Neal took it, glanced at it, frowned, and thrust it right back for him to take back.

“Dad. We’re meeting up at McDonald’s. Do you know how much change I’m gonna be walking around with for the rest of the day?”

Belle snorted and stifled a little laugh behind her hand. Gold was flustered now, clueless and lost, as if he’d missed something big. Like he’d somehow skipped a few weeks in the world’s subtlest, most functional coma.

“There you go,” he said, handing him a fifty instead.

“Still ridiculous, but alright. Thanks. Guess that’s lunch, dinner and a movie.”

“Have fun,” said Belle as Neal began to walk away.

“Ah. Uh, yeah, have fun, son.”

And then, as if the universe had deemed him not nearly confused enough, the most curious thing happened. Instead of disappearing into the back room, Neal traced a few steps back, gave Belle a serious look, mumbled a low, “You can tell him now,” and was off again.

“Tell me what?” Gold asked, rapidly switching his gaze from the empty doorway and back to Belle.

Her mysteriously peaceful smile was back again. It was beautiful, and he much preferred this to her tears or her anger, but he felt so incredibly lost.

“Just that he called me that night before you showed up,” she told him, her voice soft and kind.

“Wait, what? What did he… Why?”

“To tell me you’re not a lost cause. He loves you more than you could ever embarrass him, you know. And he likes you, too.”

Gold didn’t realize he was still holding his empty cardboard coffee cup until his fingers slackened and his eyes stung and it dropped to the table with a soft, hollow _thump_.


	15. Boys Don't Cry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things don't get less emotional for Gold, I'm afraid. But he's learned to keep tissues handy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Another short chapter. I split up the last one, but now I've had to split up the second half to that as well, because I felt I was taking too long. Apologies for the mess and the delay, and thank you all for being so nice and patient.

“Hey.”

How did she make that word sound so meaningful? There was too much kindness and concern for that tiny little syllable to contain, and _yet_. That woman and her sunflower seed words…

“Are you alright?”

Gold nodded and made some sort of sound of affirmation, blinking to keep the stinging tears at bay.

_Neal._

He closed his fingers around the cup again, dry skin on cardboard. It hadn’t toppled over. It had just dropped.

“I’m fine. I… What did he…”

His mouth was too dry to cobble together something decent out of that fragmented attempt at a sentence, so he didn’t. But he didn’t have to.

“Good things. And things that helped make sense of the bad things a bit. He told me it’s sort of your thing, going out of your way to take care of people in a material sense. That it makes you feel better about yourself.”

“That’s true. Part of it’s purely selfish. He’s told me that before.”

“There’s worse ways to be selfish.”

Gold grimaced and shook his head. “Still.”

Sighing softly, Belle ignored his protest. Likely for the best.

“And he said that you’d learn. That you’d listen, and you’d understand, and I really needed to hear that. He also used a word I really liked.”

Gold made his voice deep and guessed, “Idiot?”

“No!” she cried out, her eyes suddenly huge. “Well, I mean yes, he did say that, but he didn’t mean it and that’s not -”

She stopped abruptly when she noticed his smile, and sat back in her seat with a soft puff of a laugh. “Devoted,” she explained, calmer now. “That’s what he said.”

No-one who knew him in the slightest had ever called him that before. Had they? Gold let his gaze drift up towards a lone cloud drifting seaward up above Belle’s beautifully blue head of hair and tried to think back. He’d been called ‘caring’ before, but that was soon followed up by ‘suffocating’.

“You look like I just told you the sky turned green.”

No, the sky was still very much blue. He looked back down and found Belle leaning in a little closer, eyebrows pushed together in curious concern.

“It’s unexpected, that’s all.”

“Unexpected?” she repeated, brow seriously furrowed now.

“Weren’t you surprised when he called?”

“Well, yeah, cause I still didn’t know if he was okay with me being in your lives. You seem shocked he had nice things to say about you.”

Gold sighed and gave a slow, understanding nod. Perhaps he was being dramatic. He knew his son loved him, of that he’d never had even a modicum of doubt.

“I suppose I just never dreamed he’d want to be my character witness,” he mumbled, feeling himself begin to smile. “A good one too, from the sound of it. He didn’t lay it on too thick if he called me an idiot, did he?”

There was something bubbling in the pit of his chest, and it might have been laughter, but it could have been a sob, too. The only thing to do was to try and hold it in, whatever it was. Belle had seen him cry once before, and that was more than enough. No need to risk it.

“He was brilliant,” she agreed, returning his smile. “I really wanted to tell you the other night, but he asked me not to. He said he’d tell you himself.”

“He did?”

Belle scrunched up her pretty face and hummed a thoughtful little sound.

“ _Sort_ of. I asked him to tell you, and he said he would. I don’t like keeping secrets, and this especially… I just knew it’d be good if you heard it.”

“It is,” he decided, slowly nodding. “It really is nice to hear.”

More than nice. He couldn’t stop smiling. Definitely not with her beaming right back at him like that. If she kept it up any longer, whatever was moving and glowing and squirming in his chest might escape after all.

“So you were co-conspirators, hm, the pair of you?” he asked with a little half smirk, eager to steer the conversation towards the playful rather than the heartfelt.

Belle feigned another moment of deep thought and fought her growing smirk by pursing her lips.

“In a sense.”

“And did you just try to undermine my authority with the hair dye thing?” he asked, pointing over his shoulder as if his son was still stood there.

“I suppose I did, didn’t I?” Belle mewled in response, cocking her head to the side and letting her mischievous grin spring free, and oh dear God, he wanted nothing more than to reach over and hold that face in his hands, to let those eyes melt his spine right down to nothing and to kiss her pretty lips for an eternity.

He splayed his hands hard and flat on the table instead. His fingers itched to touch her, but he couldn’t.

Somehow, he still couldn’t.

A seagull screamed as it flew past, and that lonely cloud up above had drifted closer to the sea and out of sight. Something either white-hot or ice-cold crawled up his chest and gave him goosebumps.

“That’s really wonderful,” he laughed, and ah. Fuck. There came the tears.

Simply laughing at himself now, Gold looked down at the table, hoping his hair would cover him up. It was too late. From behind his ineffective curtain of hair, he saw Belle do that charming half frown, half smile thing of hers that he loved, and then she reached over the the table to put her warm hand right on top of his. Now his hand was no longer a claw desperately pushing against the white plastic surface of the table. It became soft and pliable under her touch.

“You’re gonna make me cry too!”

“Oh, please don’t!” he pleaded, half laughing still, half sniffling too. “I’ll never stop if you get going.”

He used the hand she wasn’t squeezing to wipe away his useless tears. Luckily, there weren’t very many of them.

“You’re embarrassed. Don’t be. I like that you -”

“Cry like a baby at any and all occasions?”

“Show emotion,” she corrected him in a deeper voice, and squeezed his hand a little tighter. “I really wish I could have told you sooner.”

“He asked you not to. I understand.”

“I mean I wish he’d walked in sooner! My break’s almost over; I have to get back. I’m so sorry.”

“Oh! No, don’t be! I’m fine.”

He put on a great big smile to prove it. Belle smiled warmly in return and moved her thumb against his skin in slow circles for a few blissful seconds. That simple gesture, tiny and somehow full of affection, gave him courage.

“Belle, would you like to have dinner with me soon? That Italian place we went to last time, maybe? Sunday?”

And gone was her smile. Not her touch, though. That was the only reason the sudden weight in his stomach was more like a large pebble, not the brick he knew it could have been when she asked him, “Actually, can we wait a while before we do that?”

Gold swallowed. Too much courage, perhaps. He nodded meekly and tried to keep up his smile.

“I’m not blowing you off!” she clarified, giving his hand another squeeze so firm that had her hands not been as tiny as they were, might even have hurt. “The week after for sure, if not sooner. I really have a lot on my plate at work right now, and I’m still a bit… you know…”

Upset? Tired? Hurt?

Not any of those, it seemed. She sighed and kept looking for the right word, but when it became clear that perhaps there wasn’t one, she explained, “I just want it to be good. Like a clean start. I wanna make sure I’m not stressed out from work and I’ve had a bit more time to just… place everything.”

That did make sense to him, not that it mattered if it did or not. Gold could manage a slightly less tortured smile, now.

“It wouldn’t do to rush.”

And neither would clinging to her legs and being dragged along the floor as she tried to get back to work.

“Exactly,” she said with a smile as she got up from the table. “Thank you being so understanding.”

“Take as much time as you need, sweetheart.”

“Are you sure you’re fine? I can be five minutes late, no problem.”

“Go!” he said, faking exasperation as he shooed her towards the door.

She stopped when she reached his chair and gave him a goosebump-raising look, with small eyes that saw right through him.

“Alright, but don’t you dare think I’m pulling back!” she warned again, putting her hand on his shoulder and leaning down to push her soft lips against his forehead.

Gold caught the hand on his shoulder and brought it up to his lips for a kiss. To his utter satisfaction, Belle’s cheeks began to catch color.

“I wouldn’t dare.”

…

When he heard the satisfying mechanical clicking of the front door lock that evening, Gold rose from his chair in the living room where he’d been waiting most impatiently and strode into the hallway. As Neal closed the door behind him, Gold took advantage of his confusion to wrap his arms around the boy’s wiry frame and pull him close before he could object - or dodge.

There was a bit of a struggle and a loud, muffled, “What the hell!” but Neal soon settled and brought his arms up around his waist in tentative reciprocation. With his hand cupping the back of his son’s head, his fingers buried in his hair rough from all the backcombing and the hairspray, Gold sighed deeply and wondered why he always had to notice the clove cigarette smell when he was in no mood to lecture.

No matter. He had him close now, his sweet boy. There was always time to scold. This? This was rare.

“I love you more than anything in this entire world, do you know that?”

“I know you told me to kick anyone who touches me without my permission in the - ”

“Just a minute. You can kick me later.”

“Not a literal minute.”

“Not a literal minute,” Gold agreed.

And he’d spare him the tears, too. He must have run out by now anyhow. The hug and the sappiness, well, that he would just have to deal with. When he felt Neal’s arms limply drop, Gold sighed, let go, and took a step back. Neal watched him carefully but knowingly, fighting a smile.

“Thank you. For what you did for me. Calling Belle… Telling her the things you told her.”

“You’re welcome, I guess,” he sighed. “Are you done now? Cause -”

No, actually. Gold grabbed him by the shoulders, planted a kiss on his forehead and then finally let him go.

“Now I’m done,” he answered, grinning.

“Jesus Christ.” Neal groaned and rubbed his forehead with his sleeve. “I wanted to ask you something. Can we sit down?”

In the living room, Neal took the seat opposite his. The TV was still on. He’d been watching something about prehistoric crocodiles with the sound low so he could jump up the moment he heard the front door open. Gold reach for the remote abandoned in a corner of the sofa and muted the suspenseful music completely.

“I wanna take mom up on her offer.”

Over Neal’s shoulder, a modern day crocodile propelled itself out of the water with its muscular tail and snapped at a lifeless chicken dangled from a fishing rod. It snapped its maw shut, narrowly missing its snack, but Gold’s mouth was still open.

“O-Oh?”

“I talked to Emma about it, and she thinks it’d be cool if I went.”

“So… Where was it? Crete? Lisbon?”

_The moon? Narnia? Mordor?_

“Lisbon, but mom said we can go wherever. She’ll book the flights and the train tickets and everything. The thing is… I’d, uh… I’d leave on Friday.”

Gold felt suddenly sick. A great big resounding _no_ raged in his stomach and it wanted desperately out, but Neal’s sweet wide-eyed look of hope made him fight it back down. For now.

“This Friday? As in, not even a week from now? You’re sure you didn’t mishear?”

“This Friday. I know it’s crazy fast, but I found my passport! It’s still valid for another six months!”

“Oh. Good.”

_Bollocks._

“So… what do you think?”

“I, uh… Well, it’s…”

With a heavy sigh, Gold sat back and frowned at the mud-covered CGI crocodile the size of a modest delivery truck as it lay in wait for an unsuspecting CGI sauropod young to venture nearer. Before the poor little fellow could take one step closer to certain leathery death, Gold turned off the television properly and looked at his hopeful son instead.

Fuck. That smile. Those wide eyes. A look he hadn’t seen since he asked to get his ears pierced, and it had defeated him then, too. The prehistoric infanticide he just passed on would have been less heartrending.

“Neal… To be honest, with everything that’s been going on the past few days, it… slipped my mind completely. It _is_ a bit sudden, son.”

“I know!” Neal replied, scooting to the tip of his chair and nodding in agreement. “But mom said she’s gonna take care of everything, and I’ll be back in ten days. I’d go with you if I could, but you never fly anymore. It’s not for mom - ”

“Neal! Don’t! She’s your mum, come on. Of course you can go.”

The words were out before he’d actually decided, but he soon saw that it was probably for the best. Neal’s eyes grew big, his budding smile blossomed into a radiant grin, and despite the faint sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, Gold began to smile back. It was a rare sight, that, and it never failed to make him feel better, even if he was only smiling because he’d just agreed to send him away over the ocean in a giant tubular deathtrap.

“Seriously? I can go?”

_Yeah, seriously?_

“Course, son. I’ll have to talk to her first and I’d like to have a general idea of where you are at all times. Not too specific, but a bit more specific than just… wind directions.”

“No, sure!”

“And send me a postcard. You never draw me anything anymore and the fridge is empty. It’s depressing.”

Even grinning like he was, Neal still managed to roll his eyes at him. Such talent, his boy.

“Okay, then I guess I’ll call mom and tell her?” he asked, getting up from his chair.

“Sure. You do that. I’ll have a chat with her later.”

Gold was old enough - and he certainly had enough fuck-ups under his belt, too - to know that his clinging to people had, in the past, often strangled the life and love out of them. It was not an easy lesson to learn, no matter how good and kind or strict and ferocious the teachers, but he’d gotten better, at least.

Still. He felt sick. Homesick in Neal’s stead, perhaps? How ridiculous.

“You can kick me, by the way,” Gold joked, just before he left the living room. “We had a deal, after all. I’m sorry for the hug.”

Neal paused in the doorway and shrugged.

“I was just kidding. You get a pass this time.”

Gold smiled and watched him disappear around the corner, heard his heavy footsteps go up the stairs.

“Are you saying that so I’ll have my guard down when you do kick me?” he called out after him.

“Live in fear, old man!”

…

Belle worked through her lunch breaks that week, but she always stopped by for a quick chat and a rushed peck on the lips on her way home at the end of the day - short but blissful distractions from thoughts of Neal’s impending trip. On the one hand, he wanted to tell her all about it; Belle worked miracles on his anxieties. But he didn’t much like the fact that she had so much on her plate already, and he was, of course, reluctant to add to it. In the end, every time she burst into his shop with her sunny smile beaming and her oceanic curls bouncing, Gold’s gray thoughts cleared his head, and all he wanted to do was fill that freed up space with nothing but _her_.

It was only the night before Neal’s flight that he finally caved. Sat at his desk in his study some time after dinner with the window open to let the warm summer air in, Gold grabbed his phone to dial Belle’s number. He knew it by heart, memorized it from the newspaper she’d written it on the day she kissed him for the first time. He was faster at dialing it than remembering where all of his contacts were stored.

“Hey!”

“Hey, darling. Is this a bad time? I know you said you were busy.”

“No, I’d love to talk! What’s up?”

Gold never quite knew how to formulate an answer to that question, so he imagined she just asked him how he was instead.

“I’m alright. I just wanted to tell you that I’ll be opening the shop a little later tomorrow, you know, just in case you drove past and thought to stop by before work.”

Right. Not _exactly_ the truth, but not a capital offense either. Just an excuse he was sure she would pick up on soon enough, anyway.

“Why?” she asked, and then deepening her voice until it sounded almost accusatory, she added, “Are you sick again?”

“No no, don’t go rushing to Granny’s for soup,” he muttered, smiling against the receiver. “I need to drive Neal to the airport in the morning. He’s staying with Milah in Lisbon for ten days.”

“Lisbon?” Belle repeated, sounding surprised. “I thought it was Crete!”

“Yeah, it’s Lisbon and… well, some other places now. I think they might travel around a bit.” In the pause that followed, Gold wondered if he sounded as deflated as he felt, so in a slightly more chipper tone, he added, “Should be nice, right?”

“Tomorrow? Isn’t that a little… _really_ fast?”

“I didn’t just find out about it, to be fair,” he admitted with a sigh. “He told me a few days ago.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

She drew out the vowels a bit and sounded somewhat crestfallen, and he pictured her brow furrowed and her lower lip jutting out.

“I didn’t really want to think about it, I suppose,” he muttered, sinking his fingers into his hair and pulling it back and out of his tired face.

“Are you alright? You don’t sound like you’re alright.”

Gold heard the sticky sighing sound of her glass balcony door being jerked open. Now he pictured her walking out, perhaps in her pajamas. She was quick to change into those if she knew she wouldn’t be leaving her studio anymore that day, so it was more than likely. The mental image made him smile.

“It’ll be the longest I’ve ever been without him, but not by that long. It’ll just take some getting used to.”

“You’re worried, aren’t you?”

“I’m always worried about him. But he’ll be fine, I know that. Milah’s good with him.”

It had taken him a while to reconcile that fact with the other things he knew to be true about her, but it was a fact nonetheless.

“I’m really glad you called me,” said Belle, her soft voice drawing him back into the now, with her, in separate buildings in separate towns but feeling close.

 _God_ , how he missed her.

“Why’s that?”

“Just am,” she said, and he could somehow hear her cute little shrug. “When’s his flight tomorrow?”

“Nine, I think.”

“Nine,” she repeated quietly. “I’ll be thinking of you.”

…

In a bright blue morning sky above a parking lot, another airplane grew smaller and smaller until it became a tiny glint in the distance, and then nothing at all.

When there was nothing left to stare at anymore, Gold sat there in his car for a while, brushing idle tears from his eyes every so often. God, he was such a weepy bastard these days. He was’t like that months ago. He wasn’t numb, exactly, but he wasn’t like _this_. He never jumped when his phone rang either before he met her. Now he barely gave it the chance to start blaring if he heard it vibrate first, which it did now, buzzing its way across the leather seat, almost out of his reach.

“Belle, hey!”

“Hey!”

“Hold on, sweetheart.”

He reached for the tissues in the glove compartment to wipe his eyes and his nose. No sniffling. Absolutely none of that.

“Right, sorry, had to take something from the glove box. I’m here. How are you?”

“I’m fine! Early coffee break. Did you see Neal off okay? His flight was at nine, right?”

Gold smiled as he crumpled the tissue, folding it into the palm of his hand and keeping it there. He could tell it wasn’t her first coffee.

“Yeah, everything went well. We got here much too early, but I’d rather that than have him miss the flight, so that was alright. I got a hug, too. Didn’t even have to guilt him into it or anything. Just like that.”

“Aw!” Belle laughed, the sound sending a pleasant spark down his spine. “I’m so glad it went well! I just thought I’d call and see how you’re holding up, you know? Are you alright?”

Gold knew not to bother with a hollow lie to reassure her. She may not have seen right through him when he was trying his very best to deceive her, but his white lies rarely went undetected. What was the point?

“I will be. Don’t worry. I’m so glad you called, though, love. It’s nice to hear your voice.”

Another airplane passed up ahead, soaring slowly from right to left right in the middle of his windscreen.

“That’s good to hear. I… I did call cause I wanted to check in, but I wanted to ask you something too.”

“Oh?”

“D’you wanna have that dinner with me tomorrow?” she asked, making his heart jump in his chest.

Had he misheard her?

“Tomorrow?”

“Yeah!”

He grinned so hard it almost hurt - wanted to laugh, even, but he bit his tongue before he could start. Just because he didn’t want to cry anymore, didn’t mean he could start laughing like a maniac instead.

“You’re sure?”

“I know I said next week, so if you still wanna wait until then…”

“No no no!” he replied without delay, sitting up straight in his seat and tossing the snotty tissue to the side. “I’d love to. I just thought you were swamped.”

“Well yeah, but I’ve been working my arse off this week. If I just power through today, I’ll be ahead of schedule.”

“Darling, don’t work yourself to death for me,” he pleaded, furrowing his brow.

Her soft laughter smoothed the lines in his face away again just as quick.

“I want to see you,” she told him emphatically. “I miss hearing your dramatic statements in person.”

Gold frowned again, utterly confused. Dramatic? Where had she gotten that from? If some catastrophic cosmic event of biblical proportions took out everyone but him and some poor sod in a coma somewhere, he _still_ wouldn’t be the most dramatic person on the planet.

“Too short notice?” she asked before he could answer, her voice a fragile peep all of the sudden.

“No! No, tomorrow’s perfect, if you’re absolutely sure -”

“I’m _absolutely_ sure.”

A cautious smile began to curl his lips.

“When would you like me to pick you up?”

…

The first night without his son on the same continent was a miserable one. It took him hours to get to sleep, and when he woke up in the middle of the night fresh out of a nightmare with a head full of worries, he flew into a panic and hit his hand hard on the edge of the night stand trying to grab his phone to check for the text Neal had sent him soon after landing. _Everything alright here, mom was waiting at the gate, says hi._ Still there, black on white. Still alright. He slept in that morning in an attempt to make up for those few hours of fitful sleep, but it was his faithful old friend caffeine that came to the rescue and got him through the day in the end.

Until about seven thirty in the evening, actually, because then the sight of Belle waiting outside her building in the light of the setting sun was more invigorating than every single giant mug of coffee he’d poured down his throat all day combined. God, the picture she made there, framed in the window in the passenger side of his car, it was enough to chase every ounce of sleep and worry from his dusty old skull until his eyes were no longer sore.

Under her jacket, she wore a black dress he hadn’t seen before. He couldn’t take his eyes off the lace trim at the bottom clinging to her thighs, even as he stumbled a bit getting out of the car.

“Hiya!”

Her lilted tone suggested she knew exactly where he was trying not to look now, coming around the hood of the car to meet her.

“Hi,” he croaked, his throat suddenly sandpaper.

He did so love her dedication to that worn leather jacket. With it draped over her bare shoulders like that, the silky red quilted lining was more visible than usual. Closing the distance between them, Belle put her hand on his arm and kissed the corner of his mouth with lips painted a beautiful red. She didn’t have to reach that far up tonight. Curious, Gold glanced down and _aha_ \- higher heels than usual. He hadn’t shrunk, then.

“You look absolutely stunning, Belle.”

“And you’re handsome as ever,” she replied, treating him to a wonderful little smirk, and he couldn’t for the life of him come up with a self-deprecating joke to bounce that compliment back.

Because he felt sixteen again tonight, somehow. His hands were clammy on the steering wheel as he drove, and he found he could only glance at her every so often lest his eyes lingered on her lips, or her thighs, or her black nails as they slowly, softly drummed on the leather between them. It wasn’t safe to look.

He was anxious, but not in a bad way, necessarily. He knew because when he took her jacket in the restaurant and felt her soft blue hair brush the back of his hands in the process, he didn’t feel the need to pull back like before. He didn’t feel terrible for it.

But he didn’t feel the least bit peckish, either.

So it was quite the task, getting his mouth to stop smiling nervously long enough to even pretend to be enjoying his vitello tonnato. He was sure his lack of appetite didn’t show at first; she asked him about Neal, and he was happy to put his fork down and tell her about the apartment with a view of the Tagus river and all of the monuments and museums Neal was raring to tick off on his long, long list of things to see. But the list was not endless, and at the end of it (“And Belém Tower, of course.”) he realized not without profound embarrassment that he’d basically given the poor girl a slide show of someone else’s trip, sans actual slides, and before it had even happened.

“But enough about that,” he growled, looking serious as he retrieved his fork so he could at least pretend to care about the main course. “How are things at work?”

Belle shook her head and told him, “I don’t want to think about work right now,” putting the ball deftly back in his court with a mysterious little smile.

“Oh? Oh. A-Alright.”

She never once stopped staring at him, even as she brought her fork up to her mouth, and he was effectively struck dumb by this strange, expectant silence. Was there something he was supposed to be saying? Was there food on his face? Was she really not going to help him out here and at least _hint_ at where the elephant was hiding? Because the only things he could think to ask was whether he was truly forgiven, and if they could skip dessert and go somewhere he could kiss her properly before he forgot what that piercing did to him. If not that, he supposed he could sit there and stare at her twinkling eyes and her sphinx-like smile until he starved to death, but surely that wasn’t what she wanted?

Was it?

Luckily, her purse began to buzz and chime at her feet, releasing him from her mesmerizing stare.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she sighed, frowning at her purse as she put it in her lap and fumbled it open. “I would have put it on silent, but Jefferson…”

She trailed off for a moment, squinting at the screen.

“Yeah, it’s Jefferson.”

“It’s alright,” he assured her, smiling with tremendous relief. “Go on and take it, I don’t mind.”

Perhaps he could come up with something to talk about while she chatted with her friend. Maybe the call was an anecdote in the making. Either way, he was saved from starvation and embarrassment.

If she would only pick up the bloody phone.

“I wouldn’t normally, but he sent me a text earlier and he sounded a little off.”

Oh good _God_ , it was one of those ringtones that got louder and louder the longer the call went unanswered.

“Belle! It’s alright!” he urged, trying to smile even bigger without looking psychotic. “Go! It’s gonna go to voicemail soon!”

“Is it rude to answer at the table? Should I go outside?”

“Both are fine, sweetheart,” he replied, trying not to laugh. “Just go ahead and pick up.”

The maddening mandolin music on loop in the background was loud, but it was not as loud as that increasingly panicky ringtone. When Belle finally picked up, he breathed a deep sigh and leaned back in his chair.

“Jefferson? Everything alright?” she asked as she stood from the table and began to walk away.

But she stopped not five paces from their table, blissfully unaware of the looks she was getting from one or two fellow diners.

“Are you drunk?”

_Oh dear._

“Where are you? Who’s there with you?”

She turned around, her face the very picture of concern. Unblinking, Gold put his glass down and reached for his wallet before he was even fully aware that he was moving at all.

“No-one?”

When she finally met his gaze, he saw a question in her big blue eyes. He answered it with a determined nod.

“Just hang tight,” said Belle in her softest voice. “Have some water if you can. I’ll be right there.”

That was that, then. Date over. He hadn’t seen it coming, exactly, but somehow he was just not very surprised at all. Gold tucked some bills underneath his full wineglass and began to get up.

“Is he in trouble?” he asked, watching her slip her phone back in her purse.

“I don’t know,” she said, her voice a tremulous sigh. “He was at the bar so it was really loud, but I think he might have been crying? He’s definitely drunk, which is weird cause he doesn’t like to drink. I’m sure it’s not an emergency, but…”

 _But_ she looked so worried with those lines in her brow and her lip in between her teeth that it made his heart ache unbearably.

“Let’s go get him, then.”

Her eyes grew big now, bright even in the dim lighting of the restaurant. Her lip began to tremble too, as if his chest didn’t feel tight enough already.

“Really? You don’t mind? It’s probably nothing, but sometimes he gets a little…”

She trailed off into a sigh and shook her head.

“It’s really difficult to explain right now.”

Gold had gotten rather fond of that magically transfigured fairy tale crow now, with his elaborate outfits and his antique roadkill dress-up dolls.

He hoped he was alright.

“Doesn’t matter one bit. He’s your friend, and I don’t want you to worry.”

Belle gave a grateful but understandably nervous smile. She let him put his arm around her waist and guide her as they walked out of the restaurant and back towards his car. It went unspoken, but he knew she knew he had to make absolutely sure that that treacherous restaurant threshold never drew blood again.

Well, not hers.


	16. The Hedgehog and the Butterfly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So the date didn't go as planned, exactly, but it wasn't the end of the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Thank you all for reading and commenting and leaving kudos and being wonderful.
> 
> The next chapter might take much longer than usual. When I started writing this story, I was aiming for about 15k. The plot ran from me at first, but now I've caught up completely. I wouldn't feel comfortable leaving this story open and unfinished for very long just waiting for inspiration to strike, but at the same time, I'm well aware that there's a bit more to be written still. I always had a very tentative plan for an epilogue, but something needs to come between this and that, and that something is a little too nebulous at the moment.
> 
> So, because of that, and for other reasons, I have to leave it at this for now, and maybe work on some other things in the mean time. But I'll be back to complain about my chapter lengths for sure! It'll just take me a bit longer. I never leave a story unfinished.
> 
> Most drawn out birthday present ever, right, screwballninja? :)

Now that the sun had set, walking into the busy basement bar was a bit like walking into an incredibly noisy downmarket sauna. The barkeep, a heavily tattooed bald man with an impressive beard greeted them and waved them over.

“Your ride’s here, buddy,” growled the visibly tired man over his shoulder as they approached the counter.

And there, slumped on a chair behind the bar sat a shambles of a man. Or a giant raccoon. It wasn’t immediately obvious from all that eyeliner rubbed around his bleary eyes. Jefferson was remarkably dressed down tonight; he wore a black t-shirt, black jeans and boots. Belle’s suspicions seemed to be founded. It was clear from the redness of his eyes and his face that he’d been crying.

“Oh Jefferson,” Belle sighed mournfully, her heels clicking on the floor as she went around the bar to join him.

“Found him crying in the corner. Put him there and told him to call a friend. Figured it’d be you.”

“Thanks for looking out for him, Frank.”

“Don’t worry about it, Belle. Least he didn’t throw up.”

Leaning again the counter to take the weight of his bad leg, Gold asked, “Does he owe you anything?” and watched Belle as she took Jefferson’s pouting face in her hands, cooing soothing words of concern.

“Nah. He didn’t even have that much to drink. Kid’s a lightweight.”

“‘m Sorry, Belle,” slurred the lightweight in question, clumsily patting his best friend on the head. “Such an idiot. A messy, stupid, insane -”

“Hush. You know you shouldn’t talk about yourself like that. It’s alright. We’re here to take you home.”

“We?”

Belle turned her head to smile at him with a helpful nod, and after a bit of searching, Jefferson finally noticed him standing at the bar. Gold raised his hand in greeting and mouthed a hello as the poor lad’s red eyes grew bigger.

“You’re… You’re on a date with… him - with _Fancy_ \- and I ruined it!” Jefferson groaned in a drunken drawl, letting his head drop down and his long legs flop forward, nearly kicking Belle’s own legs out from under her as she leaned over him to assess his exact state.

“Fancy?”

“His nickname, not mine!” assured Belle as she gently pushed his head back upright. “It’s alright, Jefferson. Just tell me what’s happened. Is Grace okay?”

“s’ Fine… I’m just sad, Belle. … Whoa, your hair’s really blue…”

“I know. Come on,” she sang, gently tugging on his wrist. “Let’s get you home.”

“No, not there,” he whined, shaking his head clumsily and making his bird’s nest hair flop about. “Don’t wanna go home, Belle. She’s not there.”

“Come hang out at mine for a bit, then,” Belle offered, taking his other wrist in her hand to draw him up completely. “Is Grace at another sleepover? Is that why you’re upset?”

“Grandparents,” was his slurred and only answer. “I don’t wanna go home.”

“We’re not taking you to your house, I promise. Just come along.”

Before Gold could join them behind the counter to help the poor lad up, the friendly but at this point _wee_ bit fed up barkeep grabbed Jefferson under his arms and helped deposit him on Belle’s shoulder. It would have been a comical sight had Gold not been so worried about her ankles in those heels. He rushed to take over from her, pulling the lanky monochrome mess to lean on his shoulder instead.

“You sure that’s alright? With your leg?” asked Belle.

“It’s fine, sweetheart. He’s mostly keeping himself up, anyway.”

Jefferson’s arm over his shoulder and around his neck was hot and heavy, but he wasn’t dragging him down as he maneuvered him up the stairs and out into the cool night air. Once outside, Belle gave him a grateful smile and touched his arm in passing, and suddenly the sting in his ankle didn’t matter much at all.

Then they walked. Slowly. It was more of a coordinated stagger, really, but it was doable. He’d had the foresight to park nearby.

Whatever Jefferson had been drinking, Gold could smell that it definitely wasn’t beer. It was something strong but sugary, and it seemed he’d spilled some on his shirt too. He would never have guessed that Frank the burly barkeep made a decent Tequila Sunrise.

“I’m so sorry, Fancy. Thanks for… Thanks.”

Gold flinched - both at Jefferson’s volume and the nickname that made him sound like an unimaginative child’s pony.

“That’s alright, lad. Tell you what, never call me that again after tonight, and we’ll call it even. Let’s just get you in the car.”

“Seriously?” he shouted in absolute amazement, slurring the word together into just two syllables and nearly bursting Gold’s eardrum in the process. “That’s your car but I can’t call you Fancy?”

“Sweetheart? Keys are in my pocket. Can’t reach at the moment.”

“Oh! Yeah, hold on.”

Belle helpfully wriggled her hand between their squashed together hips to retrieve his keys from his pocket, which was highly amusing to a squirming and giggling Jefferson.

“In you go!” sang Belle as she opened the door.

Getting him into the car was surprisingly easy, a bit like pouring custard into a a bowl. Jefferson settled with a sigh, long custardy limbs sprawled out and head lolling back as Belle reached in to fasten his seatbelt for him. Once secured, she patted him fondly on the head and began to close the door, telling him, “Just sit tight for a sec, Jeffybuns!”

“Don’t call me that. I’m a creature of the night.”

As the door slammed shut, Gold muttered, “So are hedgehogs.”

He hadn’t meant to make her laugh, so when he heard that beautiful sunny sound again after going far too long without it, Gold felt like he’d won the lottery, and he smiled an appropriately dopey smile.

“Thank you,” said Belle, taking his hand to press his keys back into his palm, contrasting cold and warm, sharp and soft.

“You don’t have to thank me, love.”

“But I can if I want to, can’t I?”

She simply quirked an eyebrow and smiled, because she knew the answer. If he kissed her now, he wondered, would her fiery lipstick stain his lips? Would he even care? Would she?

“Are you two making out out there?” came a muffled shout from inside his car.

Belle snorted and looked down at her feet and the dirty pavement for a moment, grinning coyly, making him laugh under his breath.

Tonight really wasn’t so bad.

“I’m gonna sit with him. See if I can’t get him to talk.”

“You do that.”

Belle went around the car to join Jefferson in the back. He heard the rustling of fabric and a soft pair of sighs, and with a glance in the rearview mirror, he saw that she’d sat herself right next to him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders in a tight hug. Jefferson’s unfocused eyes somehow found his in the mirror, and with an ineffectual whisper that made Gold smirk, he warned her, “Belle, your boyfriend’s like… right over there.”

“Don’t be silly. He doesn’t mind.”

“Nice for a change. Last one hated me for kissing you on the cheek. Possessive ass.”

“Really? You pinged as a threat?” teased Gold.

“I’m not gay!” Jefferson sighed, and after a beat of silence followed that up with a slurred clarification that he was, “Not straight either, but whatever.”

“Didn’t think you were. From where I’m sitting, it just looks like one puppy got into the liquor cabinet and the other one’s trying to sort him out, that’s all.”

“Puppy… _of the night_ ,” he drawled.

The good puppy grinned at him in the mirror and extracted herself from Jefferson’s clumsy hug to finally strap herself in.

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

They couldn’t take the route they had walked together from the bar back to her home; it was cordoned off with police tape and roadwork signs. Slightly worrisome - this _neighborhood_ \- but no real problem. He found a way around, driving past sleepy brick houses with only one or two lights still on, and little groups of merrymakers walking arm in arm and not bothering much with keeping to the pavement. He drove very slowly.

“Will you tell me what happened now, Jefferson?”

Belle’s voice was just a gentle tone barely audible over the deep growling hum of the engine.

“Drank too much.”

“Yeah, I think you might have, buddy. But why’d you go and do that? You don’t like drinking. You never did.”

“Yeah, I… Yeah. Still don’t.”

“Why are you sad?”

“Just miss her.”

Gold thought of Neal, all the way over the ocean and probably still asleep now, safe in his no doubt kingly bed in a room with a view of the river. The house had been so quiet ever since he’d left. It felt unnatural.

“But you’ve been getting her babysitters! And she’s already had her first sleepover, hasn’t she? Is this the first time she’s stayed with your parents?”

Silence fell and reigned for so long that Gold thought the poor soul had fallen asleep. But he hadn’t.

“Other grandparents, Belle.”

The silence returned only for Belle’s soft gasp to break it again almost immediately.

“Oh! Oh, Jefferson! I forgot, I… I’m so sorry! It’s today, and I… I’m sorry.”

Gold frowned, confused. When he glanced at the mirror, he saw Jefferson’s eyes brimming with tears that refused to spill over, and Belle’s hands scrambling to hold his.

“Ah, it’s alright,” he sighed, shaking his head. “You got the right idea, forgetting.”

His voice was rough and strained, no longer the playful drunken lilt it was before.

“When’s she coming back?”

“Sunday evening. They asked, and Grace loves them, so… So I go out and I fuck myself up, and I fucking wallow, cause I’m weak, Belle. I’m weak, and I’m irresponsible, and I…”

“Shh. It’s alright. You’re not. You’re perfect. It’s just a bad day.”

Belle pulled his head down onto her shoulder, her eyebrows knitted close together and her eyes clenched shut. Gold didn’t glance back after that. The rest of the drive was quiet, and the air markedly different - thinner somehow, making every breath feel insufficient. And he wondered, of course, but he wouldn’t ask. He just drove and thought of the picture Jefferson had shown him in that dusty basement shop of his. A gilt frame and a greyscale photograph of just him and Grace, hand in hand. And no-one else.

…

Getting Jefferson up the steep stairs to Belle’s studio was not the hassle he had predicted it would be. He’d sobered up a bit and he could walk on his own, but still Gold made a point of it to bring up the rear in case gravity decided to strike and topple him after all. Once inside, they deposited him and his sad, stormy face on Belle’s couch with a promise of tea, and retreated to her kitchen area to talk in hushed voices.

“Are you okay, love?” he asked her, putting his hand on her back as she leaned against the counter, staring at the flames under the kettle.

“Yeah. Yeah, I just… I forgot what today was. Grace’s mum…”

Her voice withered away into nothing, but that was alright. He’d gotten the picture, more or less, and the picture made his throat feel unpleasantly tight. Not knowing what to say, he began to move his hand soothingly up and down her back. The fabric of her dress was soft and he could feel her familiar warmth underneath. Even the thin zipper running from the nape of her neck down to the small of her back was warm, not cold.

“Should I leave you two to talk?” he asked quietly.

“No, no,” she said, offering a half smile as she pushed herself away from the counter, shuffling closer to him. “I’d like you to stay. I was thinking maybe you could just… chat with him for a bit?”

Gold knew he wouldn’t say no. He could never with her eyes so full of worry and love, but would he be of any use?

“I’ve never lost anyone the way he has,” he murmured, pausing to lick his dry lips. “I wouldn’t know what to say.”

Belle moved a little closer still and put her hand on his wrist. “But I think it’s about Grace more than anything.”

“Yeah?”

“I think he feels like he’s failed her tonight, somehow. He’s been taking care of her on his own most of her life, and he doesn’t have any friends who know what that’s like. But there’s you, now.”

Her fingers slipped down his wrist to squeeze his hand for a moment.

“I’ll try,” he whispered.

He left Belle to tend to the tea and turned around to find Jefferson… not on the couch. Gold stepped closer, absolutely mystified until he saw that the man had merely traded in the couch for the floor instead. His legs were stretched out underneath the coffee table, and he stared blankly ahead in complete silence.

“Didn’t we leave you on the sofa?” Gold asked.

Jefferson tilted his gloomy head up. “Yeah.”

“Wanna get back on there?”

“No.”

Well. Nothing else for it, then. With a sigh and a groan, Gold joined him on the floor, his bad leg stretched out under the coffee table like Jefferson’s, his other leg drawn up so he could rest his hand on his knee.

“Belle doesn’t get why I’m such a shit,” Jefferson muttered, his voice raspy. “Not that I thought she would. She’s… She’s sweet, and she’s smart, but she doesn’t get it. Do you get it?”

He seemed almost sober now, his pale grayish blue eyes no longer quite so unfocused and red as they searched his face for an answer. He still spoke a little too slowly, he just seemed much more aware of his state, much more mindful of his words.

“Are you beating yourself up cause you went out and got pissed, lad? Is that what this is?”

Jefferson shrugged and looked away again. The glass in the television reflected his heavy stare back at him.

“You never drink, do you?”

“I don’t.”

“What exactly did you knock back then? Three thimblefuls of rum?”

“No, it doesn’t matter how much, it’s _why_. First time I didn’t have her with me on this date, and I couldn’t fucking cope.”

It didn’t look like he was going to explain the significance of the date. He must have overheard that part of the conversation in the kitchen, then, Gold realized.

“I’m the only parent she has,” he mumbled quietly, nodding to himself as he dug his fingers into his thigh. “I’m not allowed to fuck up. I have to cope.”

Gold reached out and tapped his hand with his fingers before it started to look too painful. Jefferson quickly turned it into a fist instead.

“You’re allowed to make mistakes. Everyone does.”

“No, I’m not!” he argued, audibly frustrated now. “That’s the fucking thing when you have a tiny person. You can’t fuck up. I thought you’d get that.”

His eyes were fiery for a moment, his eyebrows pushed together and trembling, almost. But with the outburst having passed, Jefferson’s shoulders softened and slumped again, and he slowly drew his legs up to hug them to his chest.

“I understand, yeah. But I also know that that’s not how it works. I wish it was. Would have spared me a ton of grief.”

Jefferson gave him a careful look, and with a heavy sigh, Gold sank down a little deeper, letting his other leg join the one under the coffee table.

“I forgot Neal at the store once,” he confessed, having decided that _that_ particular fuck-up from the pile of candidates was harmless but significant enough to prove his point.

“I thought that only happened on TV.”

“Yeah, so did I,” huffed Gold, folding his arms over his chest. “He was about eight, I think, and we both had the flu. Fever, coughing - the works, really. So I kept the shop closed, and Neal stayed home from school. For some stupid reason, I was set on making something specific for dinner…”

He trailed off and squinted up at the ceiling, trying to recall just what it was. Roast chicken? Halibut? Lasagna? Chicken soup, perhaps?

“Can’t remember what it was,” he muttered, shaking his head. “But I didn’t have the ingredients in the house, so I woke him up from his nap and took him to the store with me. I left him in the toy aisle cause he always liked to stay there while I did the actual shopping. Store wasn’t that big, so that was alright with me. But on that day, I actually had to park my dumb arse in the car and start it before I realized he was still in there.”

Jefferson’s quiet and subtly awed, “Fuck,” made him smile, but at the same time, Gold could still feel the exact same punch to the gut he’d felt when he realized what he’d done that day. A sickening feeling of pure, primal panic. The first time he’d ever truly _felt_ the blood draining from his face. He vividly remembered rushing back in there and sweeping his wide-eyed son up and into his arms, limping out and biting his tongue to keep from crying.

“For a while, I thought he didn’t even notice. But when I tucked him in that night, he told me he saw me leave without him. Broke my heart, it did. Didn’t sleep that night.”

In the dark grey of the dead television screen, he caught Jefferson’s rapt, open-mouthed stare.

“It’s not like you meant to leave him there, man,” he said softly, shaking his head. “You had a fever. Maybe it was stupid to leave the house, but…”

He didn’t finish his sentence, opting instead to shrug as if the rest of it was obvious. Gold turned and met his concerned stare.

“That’s what Neal told me that night.”

“I know what you’re getting at,” said Jefferson with a purely mechanical grin. “I appreciate it, but it’s not the same.”

Gold smiled. Still a bit of a slow slur to his words, but he was certainly paying attention, wasn’t he?

“Maybe not exactly. But you were hurting tonight, and when it made you do something you didn’t want to do, you stopped. You got help. That’s all that matters.”

Jefferson furrowed his brow deeply and chewed his lip. Deep in thought, he avoided his gaze for a while, but when his eyes finally blinked and found his, Gold thought them much less sad.

“And honestly, it was only a wee fuck-up, all things considered,” Gold added, nudging him with his elbow for emphasis. “You were hammered, yeah, but now you’re managing a conversation just fine. You walked in on your own and everything. I envy your metabolism.”

“Fucking bar was spinning though, man.”

“Can you really call it a night out if it doesn’t?”

Jefferson huffed a dry laugh, barely louder than a subdued cough, but Gold could spot the corners of his mouth twitch a little in the fragile makings of a smile.

“You’ve decided that you made a mistake tonight, and that’s fine. You won’t do it again. But what’s the point in torturing yourself over it? Your tiny person wouldn’t want you to.”

That budding smile got a little bigger, like the sun breaking out from behind a heavy cloud.

“Wee Grace is safe right now, isn’t she?”

“Yeah. They love her.”

“And you said she’s coming back tomorrow evening?”

A nod, and an even bigger smile.

“Then you sleep it off, and tomorrow you watch a Disney film together or something. Knit a dead rabbit a vest. Whatever it is you two do on a Sunday. No harm.”

The kettle began to whistle and shake on the stove. When he looked over, he caught Belle sitting pretty on the counter, watching the pair of them with a sweet little smile and her legs dangling. She’d been listening, he realized with a start. As she slipped off the counter and turned off the stove, Gold felt his heart grow to what could only have been the size of a cantaloupe in his chest.

“No harm,” he repeated, smiling daftly now.

“Alright. No harm.”

“Now let’s sit on the fucking sofa, for fuck’s sake.”

Gold tried to push himself up from the floor, but his leg and that coffee table hampered his efforts somewhat. Jefferson was much quicker about it, and once he was up there, he hooked his arm under his and helped him back up.

“Wish I’d had you for a dad,” sighed Jefferson.

“Can you not go there, please?” Gold groaned, pulling his arm back. “You’re older than Belle. It’s weird.”

“I meant like an extra dad. My actual dad’s really nice. I don’t have daddy issues.”

“Stop saying that word.”

“Alright, dad.”

Gold narrowed his eyes to two angry buttons and opened his mouth in preparation for a string of curses that he swallowed back down at the speed of light when he noticed Belle coming towards them with a little plastic tray, grinning from ear to ear.

“Tea!” she chirped, handing them their mugs, filled to the brim with hot tea.

“Thanks Belle. I’m not gonna stick around, though.”

“You sure?” she asked, carefully sitting down on the coffee table with her own mug in her hands. “You can stay, you know. Sleepover.”

But Jefferson shook his head. “I know, but… I’m fine. Your boyfriend’s just about as effective as my therapist.”

Gold raised his brow in mild shock. “Get a new therapist.”

…

The ride to Jefferson’s house was a lot less gloomy. He talked about Grace’s sewing skills, how she’d tired of being on button duty and nothing else, and how she’d started to come up with outfits of her own, drawing them on every blank piece of paper she could find. By the time they arrived at his house, Belle seemed no longer the slightest bit worried, her pretty face constantly smiling, her brow wiped smooth.

They both got out of the car to watch Jefferson make his way up the steps to his front door, just to be safe. And then they stood there for a short while, just he and Belle, watching the hallway light go out and another one in the building come on.

“You were very quiet at the restaurant,” said Gold, who had stored those words in the back of his head all night.

He heard Belle’s heels click slowly towards him, and when he looked at her, she was smiling peacefully. The orange streetlight reflected in her silvery nose stud distracted him from her impenetrable stare.

“Was I?”

“So was I, I know. But I thought… You said you wanted to see me, so I thought you’d want to talk. Made me nervous.”

“I’m sorry.”

He still didn’t understand her twinkly eyed smile, but he knew it was a _good_ smile, and that was enough to soothe his worries a bit.

“How are you holding up, with Neal gone?”

What sort of answer was that? Then again, he supposed he hadn’t really posed a question either.

“Oh, fine. House feels terribly empty and wrong somehow, but that’s just me being silly. I’m fine.”

Up ahead, Jefferson’s living room light went off, and suddenly Belle’s hand was on his cheek, and the very tip of her lovely nose nudged his jaw in a playful touch that made his heart skip a beat.

“Belle?”

“I’ve missed you,” she murmured, her soft, textured voice conjuring up goosebumps on his neck, “and when I said I wanted to see you, talking wasn’t really on my mind.”

…

She kept her hand on his thigh as they drove, and whenever he dared to shoot her an imprudent glance, he always caught her smiling. All the while, his heart was pounding away in his chest as if to make up for that lost beat earlier.

When he closed his front door behind them and went to take her leather jacket from her (like he always did but with slightly shakier fingers) Belle suddenly piped up and declared, “I don’t always have to be on top.”

Gold’s eyes sprung wide open in shock, and his mouth dried right the fuck up as if he’d swallowed a handful of sand. He held her jacket in front of him - not like a shield, exactly. He’d just completely forgotten why he was even holding it.

“What do you mean?”

“You asked me if I was claustrophobic last time we had sex,” she explained calmly, her voice deeper now, her eyes a little smaller. “Don’t think I don’t know what you meant.”

_Oh._

He did try to bring it up that way, but that was weeks ago, on a warm afternoon on her sofa, recovering from a minor heart attack because Belle had nearly wrestled them to the floor in her quest to flip them over again. With his limbs and his mouth full of her and her hand down the front of his trousers, he’d decided to leave it at that stupid claustrophobia comment and let her have her way. Her way was lovely enough, anyway.

But he didn’t expect her to remember.

“It was a valid concern at the time, I think,” he replied, swallowing his thumping heart back down his throat and into his chest where it belonged as he hung away her jacket. “Still is. You nearly broke both our necks trying to roll us over that time, darling. You can’t deny you’re remarkably consistent about it.”

“Yes I can,” she argued playfully, slowly crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s not a thing.”

“Well…” he sang, wiggling his head from side to side in exaggerated doubt. “I think it is, but that’s fine. Whatever you’re most comfortable with is what I want.”

He moved a little closer, drawn in by the little smirk she couldn’t contain.

“But it’s _not_ a thing. Sometimes there just wasn’t any other option, like in the car. And I wasn’t on top on your couch, or on mine, so I haven’t always been on top.”

“Parallel then, weren’t we?”

“Yeah, but parallel means I don’t always have to be on top.”

“Alright, very clever,” he laughed softly. “But you know what I mean. We can rename the thing and even redefine it a little, but it’s still a thing.”

“It’s not a thing. It’s a coincidence. A series of them.”

Gold raised his eyebrow and mirrored her pose, folding his arms over his chest like Belle had.

“Coincidence? Really?”

Like a little robin about to sing, she puffed out her chest just a bit.

“Yes. Coincidence.”

Utterly charmed into submission, Gold let his fond smile break through. Why were they even having this conversation? Why had he even tried to bring it up that time? Why wasn’t he underneath her already, pulling her down onto his chest like he’d been dreaming of for days now?

“Alright. A series of very, very erotic coincidences.”

Belle rolled her eyes and poked his chest with her finger, right in the middle of his tie.

“You were supposed to say prove it,” she complained in a playful lilt, and while he was trying to remember how to breathe, Belle closed the distance between them and hooked their fingers together loosely.

“It’s okay,” she murmured against his neck, noticing his hesitance.

When she kissed him softly just under his jaw, a barrier began to crumble, and his arms went creeping around her waist so he could pull her body closer. Her soft kiss turned into a grin against the skin of his neck.

“God, I’ve missed you.”

She kissed him before he could tell her just how much, holding his face in her warm hands, slowly moving until her back bumped into his front door. When she slipped her fingers into his hair, he grabbed hold of her hips and tried to pull her closer still. He was so used to being pushed, to being covered, that he couldn’t seem to get her close enough. Even kissing her as deep as he was, reminding himself of how it felt, how she tasted, what she liked, it wasn’t close enough.

But it seemed he wasn’t alone with his frustrations, because there she went, breaking the kiss temporarily to grab him by the front of his shirt and turn them around again, pushing him back against the door with a hollow thud. Despite the welcome feeling of her warm body surging up against his the way he remembered it, Gold couldn’t help but laugh into their kiss.

Belle pulled back with a face like she was offended, but it didn’t take her too long to realize. As her eyes grew wider, so did his smile.

“Coincidence, yeah?” he teased.

“Doesn’t count. We’re vertical.”

“Oh, _this_ ,” he began, squeezing her hips and jerking her a little closer, “doesn’t count as you being on top, and parallel counts as me being on top?”

With a flustered grin on her blushing face, Belle let go of his shirt, smoothing the fabric with her hands as if she thought she’d permanently wrinkled it in her fervor. In turn, Gold let go of her hips and loosely wrapped his arms around her waist instead.

“Alright, so maybe it’s a thing.”

“It’s alright, love,” he muttered, smiling as he let his head fall back against the door. “I mean it. What you’re most comfortable with is what I want.”

She scrunched up her face and shrugged. “But it’s not like that. I don’t think it’s like that. It’s just a reflex.”

“Reflexes happen for a reason.”

“No they don’t. Not all of them. Like when the doctor hits your knee with a hammer and you kick back. What’s the point of that?”

“To kick the shite out of the bloke who’s assaulting you with a hammer, sweetheart.”

She laughed, dropping her head to his shoulder.

“But I don’t shove you off when we’re just cuddling or kissing. I like the feeling, I just don’t know why I keep… ending up on top in the end. I don’t mean to.”

“Belle, it’s alright. I think it’s cute.”

She made a strangely grumpy sound in her throat that made him want to laugh and unzip her dress at the same time. He elected to do neither.

“I don’t always wanna be cute,” she growled, pushing her nose against his jaw again.

 _Tough luck, that,_ Gold thought to himself, smirking.

“But you’re like one of those wee wobbly self-righting dolls!”

With an affronted huff, Belle pushed herself away from him and walked further down the hall, stopping in front of the staircase to step out of her shoes. She’d lost quite some height, there. If she thought that would help with the cuteness ‘problem’, she was sorely mistaken.

“You know you can hold those down, don’t you?” she sighed, glancing at him over her shoulder as she began to climb the stairs, leaving him wide-eyed, slack-jawed and incredibly lost.

Evidently, a handful of his braincells were still trying their very best to make him function like a normal person, because his feet began to move once she’d reached the top of the stairs. He followed her up and into his bedroom. She’d turned on the light before he’d caught up. Once inside, she took his hands and pulled him further into the room with her, taking slow steps until her back hit the bedroom wall.

“Belle?”

He wasn’t sure what he was asking until she answered.

“I’ll kick you if I feel the need, don’t you worry.”

She brought their linked hands up and caged herself in with his arms, smiling and staring at his lips until his struggling brain caught on that she wanted him to kiss her.

Gold sighed and crashed into her, seeking out her lips and capturing them like he’d captured her there against that wall. It felt wonderful to finally let himself trap her, the gentle pinioning of the iridescent blue butterfly that had fluttered in and out and back into his net, and she was doing quite well, funnily enough, just with their fingers laced together and his hands loosely holding hers up against the wall. Even when their kisses grew fiercer and he dared push himself closer in search of friction, there was no real need to hold her down, like she’d suggested.

Belle chose that exact moment to prove him wrong. Quite suddenly, her left hand slipped out of his grasp and latched onto his wrist, shocking him out of the kiss. The unbelievable size of her pupils when he caught her puzzled gaze sent an aftershock right down his spine.

“Alright, love?” he asked, glancing at her hand on his wrist.

“Oh,” she breathed, her parted lips forming an embarrassed smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. Force of habit. Ignore it.”

How could he not when she swept right back in and took his lip between her teeth, picking up their kiss exactly where they’d left off. He’d missed the feeling of that little stud in her tongue, smooth and elusive, something to chase after. But oh, if only his hands were free to roam and slip up her dress.

He decided to try. Slowly, kissing a trail from the corner of her mouth to her ear and down her neck, he unlaced their fingers and began to slide his hands down her sides instead. Belle put her hands on his shoulders and kept them there at first, but when his fingers found the hem of her dress, there was a tug at the back of his head, courtesy of her mischievous fingers in his hair.

He quirked an eyebrow. “And that?”

“Provocation,” she purred.

Well. He wasn’t going to ignore _that_.

“Bed,” he growled, making the floorboards creak as he guided her backwards towards the bed, where somehow, she ended up straddling his lap.

“And you were doing so well!”

“I just wanna take your shirt off, that’s all,” Belle purred, pressing her forehead against his and squeezing his shoulders. “Can’t do that lying down, can I?”

With her eyes so big and her lips tantalizingly close enough to kiss, Gold couldn’t even pretend to be bothered. But as she busied herself with his tie, he let his own fingers slip under the lace trimming of her dress just a bit, just to tease the sensitive skin of her thighs. The way her breath caught in her throat was enough to distract him from the faintly echoing twinge of shame at the prospect of baring himself to her. He’d gotten much better at that, truly, but it had been so long. Too long.

“Your hands are cold,” she breathed, a hint of a giggle in her voice. “I like it.”

“You do?”

“Mm.”

They’d warm up soon enough, anyway, even if that wasn’t true. With one hand feeling around her back to find the zipper and the other still in search of sensitive skin on her inner thighs to tease, Gold wasn’t even nervous when she began to undo the buttons on his shirt. By the time her hands were on his bare shoulders, pushing the fabric down with a slow purposeful caress, she could have taken his skin off too, for all he cared.

Because she was writhing on his hand now, and her dress was slipping down to bare more of her skin, and she only stopped kissing and biting his neck long enough to let out a moan when he’d found a particularly sensitive spot. She could take off every single one of his layers, and he would only love her more.

True to her word, when his shirt fell into a crumpled heap somewhere on the floor, Belle surrendered her perch and fell back on the bed with a blushing grin. He crawled up after her and helped pull her out of her dress. It seemed a shame to kick it off the bed the way she did, but there was no stopping her.

“This is lovely so far,” she purred as he kissed her collarbone, hovering over her, mindful not to crush. “You enjoying yourself?”

“Mm. I can really take you in like this.”

“You can do that when I'm on top, though.”

“It’s different.”

He leaned all of his weight on one elbow so he could touch her hair and admire the contrast of all that deep blue spread over his ochre pillowcases.

“Cause I’m at your mercy?”

Gold grinned and buried his face in her neck, letting his hand travel all the way from her collarbone, down over her breasts, slowly down her stomach and then in between her soft skin and the fabric of her panties. The sounds she made when he touched her like that, breathy and hot against his ear, turned him entirely liquid inside.

“I don’t think I’m ever not at yours.”

Naked in his bed, all of their clothes scattered around them, Belle clung to him with her fingers digging into his back and her legs tight like a vise around his waist. Close like this, he could take his time to kiss her lips, her neck, her breasts as he moved inside of her. He could watch her, and he could ask her what she wanted, and he could give her just that because he knew how to touch her. He still remembered. When she came, she tightened her arms around him and pulled him down onto her with such a force that all he felt and heard and _knew_ was Belle, trembling, whimpering, arching, scrambling and clinging to him until she pulled him over the edge and made him come, too.

She didn’t even let him roll off her, sweet thing. She ran her soft hands over his back and into his hair, lifted and tilted his head so she could kiss the shell of his ear, and then she began to laugh. A slow, deep, breathless chuckle that warmed him and made her shake underneath him again, setting him off too. Too tickled to protest, Belle let him spare her the full weight of his body now, and when he settled next to her on his stomach with his hair in his eyes and a sheepish grin etched in his face, he realized that he wasn’t tired. Fucked half to death, as he had put it once before, but _God_ , he could lay there next to her and listen to her laugh forever.

“That was alright, wasn’t it?” he teased, trailing a finger through microscopic beads of sweat all the way down the middle of her chest.

She caught his hand before it could slip lower than her bellybutton, brought it up to her lips and kissed it.

“I’ve missed your understatements too. I’m gonna use your bathroom. Do you have a t-shirt I can wear?”

“That dresser over there, sweetheart. Top shelf. Take your pick.”

He only bothered with pajama bottoms, picking out a fresh pair from the dresser Belle had forgotten to close on her way to the bathroom. Under his sheets, he waited patiently, listening for the sound of the light _tap tap tap_ of her toes on his wooden floors.

It was nice to see her in one of _his_ t-shirts for once, and he liked how the blue of her hair got even bluer with that white fabric for a background. She turned off the light and crawled under she sheets with him, sliding close and fitting her head under his chin before he could even ask her if that was wise.

“You know,” he began, making his voice a deep warning as he wrapped his arms around her wiggling, settling body, “ _you_ might not fall asleep like this, but I will, and then you’ll be stuck.”

She giggled, but she didn’t extract herself from his embrace. Instead she tangled their bodies even more, slipping a leg in between his and perching her hand on his neck.

“Then you’ll just have to stay up with me for a while.”

Gold smiled and kissed her hair. She shifted a little bit then, just enough to get her head out from under his chin so she could gaze up at him.

“I find it really weird that you’d be able to fall asleep this way. You’re really hanging on tight, you know.”

“So are you right now!”

“Yeah, but to cuddle, not to sleep! You’re hanging on like I’ve got the only parachute and the plane’s going down. That doesn’t scream ‘sleep’ to me.”

“ _Now_ who’s being dramatic?”

“Oh, you like it,” sang Belle, stroking the hair out of his eyes. Then she kissed him very softly, brushing her dry lips against his and touching his cheek with her fingertips. “Thank you. For everything you did tonight.”

Why could she not stop thanking him for the bare minimum? If he protested, she would carpet bomb him with compliments and affection, and his head would simply explode trying to hold back all of his negativity.

He would just have to distract her.

“I didn’t do anything you wouldn’t have done. Now tell me about your possessive ex.”

“Oh my God,” Belle laughed, rolling her eyes at him. “I was wondering when you were gonna bring that up.”

“Wonder no longer.”

She sighed and put her hand back on his shoulder, her thumb drawing circles on his skin.

“Jefferson wasn’t exaggerating in the car. My ex did freak out when he got affectionate with me. So yeah, I had a possessive boyfriend, but not for long after that.”

“You make it sound as if you had him killed,” he mock whispered in a secretive tone.

Belle quirked an eyebrow and repeated, “ _Had_ him killed?”

Gold snorted and poked her side to make her giggle and squirm until she caught his menacing hand under the sheets and pulled it back over her waist, where it belonged. When she was all laughed out, she grew suddenly serious. Not unsmiling, and not distant, but there was something about her pale blue eyes as the moonlight struck them that told him there was something on her mind.

He just hoped it wasn’t another thank you.

“What about yours? What about Milah? You’ve never told me much about her.”

Ah, fuck. He wished it had been another thank you.

“Well,” he sighed, taking a lock of her faintly curling hair in between his fingers to distract himself with. “She wasn’t possessive. The polar opposite, maybe. She’s not the type of person who does well with other people, really. I’d go so far as to say she shouldn’t even have tried with me, but then…”

“Then you wouldn’t have had Neal.”

“Right,” he said, smiling down at her, wanting her to smile back. “D’you mind if we talked about something else, darling? It’s just…”

“Course I don’t mind,” she replied, giving him that smile right before pulling his head down for a quick peck on the lips. “But hold on. I’ve got an idea.”

Curious and only _slightly_ concerned, Gold watched as Belle wriggled herself out of his arms. He couldn’t quite tell what she was up to under the sheets at first, but then she pushed him onto his back and crawled half on top of him, her warm red cheek resting on his shoulder and her arm thrown over his stomach.

_Oh._

He lifted his head so he could catch her eye.

“This is lovely, don’t get me wrong, but what exactly is your idea?”

“I think I might be able to fall asleep like this!” she chirped, grinning bright.

“Really?”

“Yeah!”

She reached over his head and pushed and pulled his pillow a bit further down so he wouldn’t have to strain his neck as much.

“I think it’s the idea of being trapped, you know?” Belle continued. “But this way, I can -”

“Sneak off and run away with all of my valuables in the middle of the night?”

“Oh, shut up!” she laughed, returning his little poke from earlier, making him yelp.

“Alright. Point taken. You’re a blanket, not a mattress.”

“But are you really a mattress? Could you fall asleep with me on top of you like this? Is it too much weight?”

“Oh, yes,” he remarked dryly. “You’re crushing me terribly. I can’t remember what it’s like to breathe.”

Belle snorted and sputtered but didn’t go for his ribs again, surprisingly. Instead, she tried to pull the sheets up over their shoulders. Gold knew she wouldn’t be able to do it properly without turning on her back and perhaps losing that comfortable spot on his chest for good, so he took over for her. She thanked him with a kiss on his chin.

“I had no idea hedgehogs were nocturnal,” she murmured once they’d settled in the darkness, her leg slowly slipping in between his again.

It took him a moment to realize why on earth she was talking about hedgehogs all of the sudden, but then he remembered his little remark earlier. He smiled, surprised the thought was still floating around in that mind of hers.

“You didn’t?”

“I’ve never even seen one.”

“Not in Australia either?”

“No! I moved from a country with no hedgehogs to another country with no hedgehogs. What a waste, right?”

“Well, personally I’m glad you moved to another country with no hedgehogs. And decided to work at Hot Topic. And wanted to flirt with me.”

He paused to let her giggle on his chest for a moment.

“But you did miss out, to be honest. I used to see ‘em in my nan’s garden when I was little.”

“But they’re nocturnal,” said Belle, lifting her head to frown at him. “Weren’t you supposed to be asleep?”

“You’ll never get to see a hedgehog with that attitude.”

With a giggle, she dropped her head onto his chest again.

“Tell me everything you know about hedgehogs.”

“Everything?”

“Everything.”

As she cuddled close, all warm breaths and softness, Gold’s stomach was doing exactly what it did back when they were still tiptoeing around each other in that strange store of hers. It was tingling and floating, flipping and twisting, and all he wanted was to tell her that he loved her, but that was not what she’d asked for, was it?

She’d asked for hedgehogs.

So he spoke very slowly and told her all he knew. He told her that the ones in Europe were a lot bigger than she might expect, and he described their waddling gait through the garden in the middle of the night in search of anything even remotely edible, and how the wee creatures liked to make their nests in piles of wood, so it was best to check before lighting a campfire if you’d left it unattended for a while.

Belle listened very quietly with her cheek smushed against his chest and her hand on his shoulder. When he didn’t feel her eyelashes brushing against his skin anymore, he knew her eyes had fallen shut.

“And they hibernate. And they do like to live in hedges, but proper hedges, you know? None of that trimmed poodle nonsense; natural hedges. That’s all I know about hedgehogs, and I’m not sure if you’re still awake, but I love you.”

Gold waited with bated breath for a sign of life, but her eyes didn’t flutter open, and she didn’t lift her head to look at him. Had all that hedgehog talk sent her off to sleep that easily?

Had it really?

“I love you too,” came her sleepy voice at last, accompanied with a smile that he could feel against the bare skin of his chest. “Think we found you a pet name.”


	17. Leftovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rainy family dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for taking forever. It's a shorter chapter, too. Thank you for reading. You're all great and your kind words mean a lot. <3

“Your, uh… Your dad, he's kind of caught on that some of the bands I listen to have got a number in the name. He's been mixing up names and numbers he gets from my shirts or my CDs ever since. Or just tagging them on to stuff.”

Perhaps she should have waited until Neal had swallowed his last mouthful of food. He paused for a moment, then resumed chewing. Belle had finished her own plate already, and her boyfriend was in the kitchen to take care of dessert. He’d left them there, sitting opposite one another, in complete silence until she couldn’t take it anymore.

But he was still chewing, and she’d rather talked herself into a corner, hadn’t she?

“Like last week, he saw me reading Slaughterhouse-Five and he asked me if it was some kind of band biography.”

Neal huffed at that, and to Belle, that was close enough to a laugh to make her smile and realize that the situation wasn’t _that_ dire. Their first dinner together had gone alright after all, if a bit quietly. It had been easier when they were all in the room together - all three of them - because he would coax replies out of his son and took over for her when she ran out of things to say and feared she was babbling. Now the training wheels had come off just for a few moments, and Belle was itching to push past whatever it was that kept their conversation so stilted and clunky. She was nervous, but she was eager.

And Neal was still chewing, which was odd. Everything had been cooked to perfection.

“That one was obviously a joke, I think, cause I’m pretty sure he’s read it too, but sometimes I’m really not sure if he’s being serious,” she added, careful to fill in the silence between them like it was a delicate line drawing and all she had at hand was a blunted crayon.

Finally, the chewing stopped. Belle held her breath as Neal’s careful eyes finally rose to meet hers properly.

“Did you laugh?” he asked, putting down his fork. “The first time?”

“Well, yeah! He asked me how many Alkaline 182 shirts I had!”

“Yeah, you shouldn't have done that,” sighed Neal, sounding like the patient but oh-so-over-it IT guy at work who kept having to ask Sidney to just try restarting his computer first before leaving him several panicky voicemails in the middle of the night.

Belle leaned in a little closer, pushing her plate away so as not to drag her blue hair through the last drop of sauce, and in a lower tone asked, “So he's doing it on purpose now?”

“Probably.”

She gasped silently and sat back in her chair, arms over her chest.

“That little -”

“Little what?” came a deeper voice from the doorway. “What did I miss?”

Their heads turned in unison. He stood there with his sleeves of his dark blue shirt rolled up and his shoulder against the doorpost. The look on his face, cautious and amused with just a little touch of hope, made her want to kiss him terribly.

“Nothing,” replied Neal, stacking her empty plate on his and pushing his chair back. “We were just talking about Green Day 420.”

Belle did _try_ to hold back her laughter, to her credit, but the hand in front of her mouth was not enough to stop her sputtering giggles. She didn’t feel that bad about it, though; he’d poked fun at her inability to keep a straight face for longer than a nanosecond not even a week before.

“Oh, I see!” he cried out, folding his arms in front of his chest in his best impression of a petulant child. “I was about to ask if you two were ready for dessert, but I suppose no-one wants any, then.”

“God, you’re so dramatic,” sighed a smiling Neal as he slid past his father into the kitchen, carrying their plates.

“So _prickly!_ ” added Belle with a knowing smirk.

From the way his mask of faked insult cracked and made way for an embarrassed smile, Belle knew he’d heard the secret endearment underneath her teasing tone. She grinned in delight and wondered if his cheeks were about to color themselves pink. But he turned on his heels and headed back into the kitchen before she could see, tutting and muttering, “Ganging up on me in my own home, aye?”

When he came back with a giant glass bowl full of strawberries, cream and meringue, the giggles left her body completely. She was charmed into silence by the colors - fluffy white, lovely pink and tempting red all swirled together, and they ate very quietly, but only because there was no room for words with their mouths full of sweetness.

When their bowls were empty and their bellies full, the sea of uncertainty began to trickle back into the room. It had been something of a rushed affair, this dinner. They’d been putting it off for weeks now, neither of them very eager to risk an evening of awkward silences and possibly disaster when everything was going so well. So in the end, tired of cowering, they went for a hastily scheduled dinner in the middle of a week full of deadlines for her, and a school night for Neal, sending her boyfriend flying around town to put together a beautiful three course meal on short notice. She’d never eaten dinner this early before, but there hadn’t really been any other option. Neal had his art class to attend, Belle had work to do, and Gold’s eyes were a little red from exhaustion. But she couldn’t get her mouth to say the words that would end the evening and send her back out into the chilly October rain.

“I should go get ready,” decided Neal, getting up from his chair again.

“You’re not thinking of going on your bike, are you? It’s pouring.”

Belle turned her head towards the sound of frantic raindrops tap tap tapping against the windowpane. With summer having come and gone, the winds had picked up and the rain had gotten colder, stinging her cheeks when she had to brave it in the mornings before making it to the shelter of her car, and again come lunchtime when she ran from the office to the pawn shop, clutching his borrowed black umbrella tight and thinking of Granny’s scalding hot coffee and his arms around her to tide her over.

“It’s just rain. I’ll be fine.”

“It’s not safe, son,” Gold replied, his voice a gentle growl.

“I could drive you!”

They both looked at her with similar expressions she couldn’t quite read, lips slack and brows just a little bit raised. It made Belle wonder if her mouth had gone rogue and she’d actually offered to teleport him instead.

“I should be heading back anyway; I’ve got an article to finish,” she explained. “Where’s your class at?”

“My school,” Neal replied quietly, glancing at his father from the corner of his eye.

“That’s not out of my way at all!”

“Sweetheart, that’s alright,” said Gold, putting his palm flat on the table, a strange but sweet little gesture she knew to mean he would have grabbed her hand had they been alone. “I have to pick him up anyway. Might as well drop him off, too.”

“But it’s more efficient, right? It’s really no bother. I’d love to help.”

He smiled at her, and they shared a hopeful look for a moment. She didn’t dare turn to Neal to gauge his mood, but she didn’t have to. 

“Yeah, alright. Thanks,” he mumbled.

Belle grinned at his back as he walked up the stairs to his room to get ready. Only the coolness of a hand on top of hers made her stop beaming at the empty landing. Warm brown eyes and a careful smile greeted her.

“Are you sure, love?”

She turned her hand palm up and squeezed his fingers.

“I’m sure,” Belle sighed with a smile.

In the hallway, he pulled up the collar on her coat, touched her cheeks with chilled fingertips and gave her another warm smile. She made a move to kiss him, but when she heard heavy footsteps on the landing, Belle dropped her head with an embarrassed smile and took a step back.

“See you tomorrow.”

“Drive safe, love.”

In her car, wiping the raindrops from her warm face and waiting for Neal to throw his bag in the back, Belle began to wonder if she wasn’t about to push her luck. She supposed it was optimistic of her to think that just because they’d poked gentle fun at his dad together earlier, that that would mean the end of the awkwardness between them. But awkwardness was alright with her. She knew it well, and she knew it would pass.

The stiffness between them in her car was mostly her fault, anyway. At first, at least. Because when she slammed the car door shut, Belle caught herself not even daring to turn the key before Neal had strapped himself in, and she froze in her seat. The moment chilled her, made her hear phantom screeching tires and made her throat swell.

“Something wrong?” Neal asked, scanning her face with clever eyes for a hint.

He trusted her with the thing he loved most in this world.

“No, no,” she replied, her voice a little fragile. “We alright to go?”

Neal quirked an eyebrow and gave a slow nod. With that, she took a deep breath as subtly as she could, bade herself to stay calm, started the car, and drove.

The sky was gloomy and grey, and the sun, though there was no sign of it, had sunk lower behind the thick veil of dark rainclouds. Whenever someone else drove her through the rain, Belle loved to sit back and let her eyes go unfocused to make the lights beyond the rainy windows bloom and dance. She couldn’t do that now, obviously. But Neal’s stare was just a little unfocused, his head tilted back against the headrest, and Belle wondered if he was doing it too.

“Your dad’s a great cook, isn’t he? What’s your favorite thing he makes?” she tried, breathing a bit easier once they turned the corner.

“Goulash.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever tried that.”

“Beef stew, basically. But like, with paprika and bell peppers and tomatoes and stuff.”

“That sounds good.”

“It is.”

Belle waited a few seconds longer, just in case she hadn’t talked them into another dead end after all. But he didn’t speak. She reached for the radio and changed her mind, pulling her hand back perhaps a little too swiftly.

“Are you gonna get sick of him and leave him for some shitty band's bass player?”

She stared at him in shock and horror, half tempted to pull up by the side of the road so she could _keep_ staring - until what just happened made sense.

“No!” Belle cried out once her tongue had thawed, turning her eyes to the road again to make sure she hadn’t crashed the car minutes before and this was some sort of trauma-induced hallucination. “Are you serious? Do I… Did I really give you that impression?”

“No. Sorry.”

Her eyebrows knitted together, Belle looked over at him and waited to sigh that sigh of relief until he flashed her a tentative smile. It was more mechanical than anything, but it was enough to slow her out-of-control heart and loosen her death grip on the steering wheel just a touch.

“Oh.”

“Bad joke,” he explained, his voice an apologetic mutter. “You kinda looked like you were waiting for me to… I don’t know. Say something like that, I guess.”

“Right,” she sighed. “Okay.”

“Sorry,” he repeated, looking down into his lap.

“No. No, it’s…”

She tried to swallow down the tightness in her throat, but she couldn’t even bring herself to stop frowning. She could practically feel the lines searing themselves into her forehead.

“It’s fine, I just… didn’t see that coming.”

It was true, what he had said just then. She sort of _had_ been waiting for Neal to say something. Nothing about running off with a bass player, obviously, but something. Anything else. Anything meaningful, whether it hurt or not.

“Neal?” She waited for him to look at her before continuing, “It’s alright if you do have your doubts about me.”

“It was just a joke,” he replied, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

“Yeah, I know, but… But my dad never dated anyone after my mum died. And I don’t know how I would have felt about it if he had. But I can imagine, and it’s not… I don’t think it would have been easy.”

He began to twist the fabric of his jeans over his thighs nervously. Then he shrugged.

“It’s weird. That’s all. It’s just weird.”

“I guess it is,” she agreed.

They came to a halt in front of the lights, silent once again until she caught him looking at her, his lip between his teeth. Feeling brave, Belle decided to push further.

“And I guess I just want you to know that if… if there’s something you want to tell me, something you feel I need to know…”

He looked away again. Belle saw the muscles of his neck move as he swallowed.

“Just anything you think I should hear or just… just anything you want to say to me at all, about your dad, about me, about how you feel about all of this, I… I want to hear it, Neal.”

The boy made an interesting picture, with his mussed hair and his eyes lined with black, a greenish glow to his skin as the rainy shadows moved over his face. He didn’t look very much like his dad at all.

“Belle. Green light.”

Her eyes shot open wide.

“Oh my God,” she gasped softly. “Sorry.”

She began to drive again, down wet roads that glimmered lights back at them.

“There’s something,” came his suddenly softer voice again after a while.

Belle’s heart began to beat its way up to her throat, where she tried in vain to swallow it down again. _This is good,_ she silently told herself when the tension made her fingers tighten around the wheel again. _It’s what you asked for. It’s good._

“It’s gonna sound like common sense,” mumbled Neal, so quietly Belle could barely hear it over the sound of the engine and the rain on the roof. “But it’s important.”

“I’m listening.”

“Just…”

When nothing followed but a shallow shaky sigh, Belle glanced over again. Neal’s brows were pushed together in deep concern. He stared straight ahead.

“Don’t take anything out on him if it’s not his fault.”

Belle wanted to scour his face for little tells, for clues, for a meaning she’d missed. But there was the road to think of.

“Oh.”

“Told you it was obvious,” he huffed in a quiet laugh.

Belle blinked.

“No, I… I understand.”

“I don’t know if you do.”

Neal paused for another sigh, shakier than the last. Belle caught herself wanting to reach out and put a hand on his slumped shoulder, but the moment seemed too brittle for that.

“If you do that… If he cares about you and you do that, he won’t know, and it’s not right. I’m not letting it happen again.”

Belle’s heart sank straight down her chest to settle in the pit of her stomach as she recalled all of the little needless apologies, heartrending looks of deep concern when all she’d had was a bad day at work, and the grand total of thirty seconds, give or take, that they’d spent talking about his ex-wife. She’d known, on some level. She’d felt it. But when she felt it before, it didn’t hurt like this. Not quite like this.

It was difficult to speak with her throat full of feelings, but she had to.

“I won’t, Neal. I wouldn’t.”

For a moment, all she could feel was the sweet boy’s eyes burning holes right through her profile. When she looked over, he gave a little nod. And so the heaviness lifted just a little bit, and the sting in her eyes went away. Still she nearly drove past the school, stuck in her thoughts as she was, and when she cursed under her breath, she heard him snort. It made her smile.

Parked in front of the school, Belle let her hands fall into her lap with a sigh. It was still pouring like crazy. He would have to make a run for it.

“Thanks for the ride,” he said.

“You’re welcome. And… I don’t wanna be sappy, Neal, but I… I care, and if you ever need my help with anything…”

He nodded and looked away very quickly. His dark floppy hair moved about like Jefferson’s did when it was much longer. Too sappy? Too sappy, probably. Better wrap things up, she thought. Better make it quick.

“Your dad gave you my number, right?”

“Yeah. Still got it.”

“If you ever need anything…”

“Yeah. Alright.”

Belle smiled at him, but he didn’t smile back. Instead, he furrowed his brow and very seriously told her, “I’m sorry about your mom.”

Her lips rounding into a soft _oh_ and her eyes grew bigger.

“Thanks. That’s… Thanks.”

“Bye.”

With a final smile, tiny but sure, Neal jumped out of the car, took his bag from the back seat and ran through the pouring rain and into the building. Belle sat and watched until the doors fell shut behind him, and when they did, she sighed and slumped forward, leaning on the steering wheel, careful not to hit the horn with her forehead.

Her heart was racing for some reason, but steadily slowing now. The sound of the rain on the roof of her car soothed her, and after a moment of sitting and breathing and feeling the tension melt and glide out of her limbs, Belle began to understand why.

The rain made her think of him. It made her think of nights in the back seat of his car, with his arms around her and her face buried in his neck.

He loved her so.

She grabbed her phone, pushed the buttons with fingers trembling from relief and excitement, and waited to hear his voice.

“Sweetheart!”

“Hey!” she replied, feeling herself begin to grin. “Everything’s alright, don’t worry. Just wanted to tell you I dropped him off.”

“You’re not driving, are you?”

“No, still parked in front of the school.”

A few other kids ran past the hood of her car and towards the building, their coats up over their heads for makeshift umbrellas.

“How did it go?” he asked, his voice a little higher with timid hope.

“Pretty good, actually. We talked about how brilliant a cook you are.”

His deep, tired laughter warmed her heart.

“You don’t believe me, do you?”

“I suspect you might be embellishing a little.”

“Not really!” she argued, smiling a half smile. “Apparently I really need to try your goulash.”

It was silent for a second or two, and then he let out a quiet, “He told you that?”

“Mhm.”

Belle bit her grinning lip and tried not to laugh for the umpteenth time that day. _Goulash_. The secret password.

“Dinner was really great, you know,” she continued, leaning back in her seat and sinking down a little bit. In the distance, a crack of lightning cut a jagged path of light in the dark clouds. “And I didn’t thank you, I don’t think. So thank you.”

“It was nothing. Rush job, really.”

“That makes it even more impressive. Everything was delicious, and I wish I’d sneaked the rest of the pasta salad out in my purse with me.”

“Oh, alright then,” he growled. “Thank you, love. I’m glad you liked it.”

Belle smiled. He was just humoring her, wasn’t he? No matter. She could go on for days.

“And you made me laugh a lot today.”

“On purpose?”

“And you looked really hot in that blue shirt. I’m sad I didn’t get to take it off.”

“What on earth are you up to, Belle?” he laughed. “What’s wrong? Did you drop him off at the wrong school?”

His laughter made her grin return, wide as could be. She pictured his own grinning face, red with that blush she’d almost spied earlier finally breaking through. Maybe he was running his fingers through his hair. Maybe he’d undone another button on his shirt to do the dishes.

“Nothing’s wrong! I just wanted to make sure you know you’re great, and that I love you.”

“I love you too. Tonight… It really meant a lot to me. It went alright, didn’t it?”

Belle looked at the empty seat next to hers. The conversation had still been a little stilted. Neal had given her a tiny little heart attack with that joke about running off with a bass player. But…

“It did.”

And that made her feel as light as a cloud. Not one of the impossibly dark ones throwing buckets of rain down onto the town, though. A fluffy white one. Like a piece of meringue.

After they said their goodbyes, Belle drove slowly home, smiling because everything had gone alright.

…

Not even two hours later, she rushed down the stairs on her socked feet and opened the front door to find her boyfriend sheltering from the rain under the narrow, leaky porch. He had a smile on his face and his hands behind his back, looking handsome as ever in his overcoat, if a bit drowned. Behind him, the rain was still pouring.

“Hey!”

“Hey yourself!” she replied, returning his smile. “What are you doing here?”

“Calling your terrible bluff.”

Utterly confused, Belle uttered a useless, “What do you -”

But then, with a mysterious little smirk, he produced a big tupperware box from behind his back. It was filled to the brim with the pasta salad from before, and, she suspected, a batch he’d made after. She couldn’t possibly have eaten that little of it.

“Oh my God!” she gasped, making him laugh. “Thank you so much!”

She wasn't sure if she wanted to kiss or hug him, so she fell into him and clumsily did both. She kissed his lips hard and then buried her chin into his shoulder, wrapping her arms tight around him and trapping the box between them. Laughing a soft, deep laugh that Belle felt resonate in her chest, he brought up his one free arm to hug her close. The hard edge of the box poked into her ribs, but she didn’t care. She didn’t want to let go. He smelled of strawberries and cologne and rain, and she wanted to drown in him. Closing her eyes, Belle sighed deeply.

And when she opened her eyes again, peeking over his shoulder, she saw it. Well, him. Neal, sitting in his dad’s car and waiting, his face framed in the rainy window as he gave a quick polite nod and looked away again.

With her face slowly turning red as a beet, Belle murmured a soft, “Oops,” and nodded towards the car. She disentangled from their embrace, clutching the tupperware box to her chest now.

“Ah, he’s fine,” he half sighed, half growled. “Well, I’m sure he’s still horrified on some level, but… I think we’ve been good so far. Haven’t we?”

“Yeah,” she replied, glancing at his lips with a little smile. “We have.”

“He… He told me what you said to him in the car. That he can call you any time.”

Belle smiled and told him, “Course he can,” putting her hand on his arm.

There was only a split second of warning, a darkening of his gorgeous eyes before he took her face in his hands and tilted it up for a soft, firm kiss that made her knees feel weak. She flushed and nearly dropped the pasta to the ground.

“Would you like to do it again?” he asked, touching his forehead to hers for just a moment.

Belle swept in and caught his wet lips with her own, but his gentle laughter broke the kiss _way_ before she was done. She was all ready to pout, but -

“I meant dinner, sweetheart.”

“Oh!”

Belle felt her cheeks grow even redder, redder still when his smile stretched to a beautiful grin.

“Well,” he added, deepening his voice to the tone that always sent a spark down her spine as he put his fingertips on her cheek again. “I _thought_ I did.”

The sudden loud honk of the car horn made her racing heart stumble. His shoulders jumped and his eyes sprung wide open, and Belle couldn’t help but giggle.

So much for being good.


	18. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A year later. Change is difficult, but that doesn't mean it's bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus ends the world’s most drawn out birthday present. Again, thank you Screwballninja for being great, and happy holy-crap-it-hasn't-been-your-birthday-since-I-posted-the-first-chapter!
> 
> And thank you guys for reading this mostly accidental story, leaving comments and giving kudos and being really sweet and encouraging. <3

“You’re gonna have to let go some time, dad.”

“You think so, aye?”

Because he didn’t think so. He didn’t think he could ever let his son out of the hug he’d snared him in, let alone his sight. Yet that was what they were here for, and that was what was going to happen. His whole existence save for a few bits and bobs was packed into bags and boxes that fit neatly in the car, and now everything had been moved from the car into his new room. Things had gone more smoothly than expected. The first round of goodbyes, however, hadn’t stuck.

“Dad,” came a muffled mumble quite near his shoulder. “Seriously, let go.”

With a shaky sigh, Gold finally let his arms drop and took a step back. His surrender was rewarded with a bright smile and a pat on the shoulder.

“Was that really so hard?”

He tried to mirror his son’s smile, but he could feel his treacherous lips struggling to fake it, so he just nodded instead, and kept nodding until suddenly, there was a warm touch on his arm. He looked to his right. Belle, smiling up at him, her blue eyes and her nose ring gleaming in the light of the early afternoon sun, making his own smile come a little bit easier.

Thank God she was here.

“Thanks for letting me tag along, Neal,” she said, turning her smile at him. “It means a lot that you asked.”

“You kidding me?” he chuckled darkly. “I’m the one who should be thanking you. Just the thought of him and his waterworks all alone in the car for hours…”

“What waterworks?” Gold growled, wiping his wet eyes on his sleeve.

“Oh my God,” Neal groaned. “It’s not like we’re never gonna see each other again. And I’m still gonna call, you know.”

“Every day,” he decided with a nod.

Neal’s eyes grew huge in absolute horror. “Not every day!” he cried. “Come on!”

“Would that really be so bad?”

“Yes!”

Some small part of him wanted to put his foot down, but just as he opened his mouth to voice his demands, Belle wrapped her arms around his right arm and gave it a squeeze. Gone was the frown creasing his forehead, and gone the tension in his shoulders. He knew that if he turned to look at her, he would crumble and give in completely, so he didn’t.

“Just for the first week or so, then. At least try to text. Please, son?”

Neal rolled his eyes, folded his arms over his chest, and sighed a reluctant, “Alright, fine,” that made him feel a little bit better.

But only a little bit. Because there stood his only child, taller than him, braver than him. Standing on his own in front of the massive building that would swallow him whole for years and spit him up changed. And he wouldn’t be getting back in the car with them. He wouldn’t come hurtling down the stairs for his dinner later that evening. Gold wouldn’t be hearing him sneaking down the creaky staircase, or laughing over the phone with his girlfriend in the middle of the night.

He might bawl. Or vomit. Possibly both.

“Well, I guess you guys should get going, huh?” said Neal, nodding towards the parking lot.

“No, course not!” Gold exclaimed, his eyes blowing open wide in a sudden panic. “We don’t have anything planned, do we sweetheart? We can stay.”

Belle shook in a silent little giggle and let her head drop to his shoulder. The bigger clue was Neal, though, shaking his head with his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose as if suddenly overcome by a frightful headache.

Oh.

He was the headache.

“You’re, uh… trying to get rid of me,” he laughed embarrassedly. He knew it sounded forced, but that had been his best shot at it.

“Not like that, dad,” he sighed, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, hiding his hands up his long sleeves and shrugging. “It’s just… I hate long goodbyes, alright?”

Well, he did have a point. Goodbyes were terrible, and this one in particular was a horror. He didn’t blame the boy. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Gold had another go at the whole smiling business, even though he was really starting to feel ill.

“I get it. Run along, son. It’s fine. You’ll at least text tonight, won’t you?”

“Yeah, I will.”

“Bye, Neal!” chirped Belle, loosening her grip on his upper arm for a moment so she could give a little wave. “I’ll miss you.”

“See ya, Belle. Dad.”

And with another pat on his shoulder, harder this time, Neal turned and joined the sudden and well-timed stream of college students moving up the path ahead. Gold stood frozen and watched helplessly as his son became smaller and smaller, turned into a single spot of black in a sea of color, and then disappeared into the gaping maw of the brick building in the distance. 

Eighteen years. Just like that.

“He’s gonna do great,” said a soft voice to his right.

Belle was smiling up at him. Her bright eyes were a bit misty, but certainly no worse than his. She gave his arm a little tug and gently urged his body into action, until somehow, miraculously, after a shaky exhale, he was taking steps away from where he knew his son to be. Back to the car to take them even further.

The sight of his car in the parking lot up ahead made him feel queasy. Could he ask Belle to drive? Ah no, no, he couldn’t, and he knew that. She hadn’t slept very well that night. She’d had to get up early and she’d refused to take a nap in the car, opting instead to struggle against the weight of her own eyelids as she worked her sleepy magic and chattered until the ride felt somehow less of a funeral procession than Gold would have made it, had it just been him. She’d more than earned her sleep.

“Dad, wait!”

Just as he reached for his keys in his pocket. The unmistakable sound of combat boots on asphalt, thundering in his direction. Gold spun on his heels and walked as fast as he could to meet his son as he came running towards him. The thud of his chest hitting his when he threw his arms around him was the best feeling in the world.

“Oh, Neal…”

He held the back of his head in his palm, pushed his head into his shoulder and closed his eyes.

“Forgot to say thanks,” Neal mumbled, putting his hands on his shoulders to push himself away again much too soon.

“What for?”

A shrug. A lopsided smile that he tried to wrestle down again. A squeeze of his shoulders.

“You know. Stuff. I love you.”

Oh, God. How was he supposed to keep the waterworks in check?

“I love you too,” he said, and he smiled as he bit the inside of his cheek hard. Harder still when Neal stepped back and looked over his shoulder to wave at Belle.

And then, very quietly, as if he thought she might overhear, Neal whispered, “You’re gonna ask her to move in with you, right?”

The words sent a little shock right to the pit of Gold’s gut, made him feel as if he were floating for a second. Shocked, because it had him wondering if Neal had been reading his mind the past few months.

He’d been picturing it - always waking up to her mess of blue hair fanned out over his pillowcase, and falling asleep with her every single night. They’d talked about it a few times, even. Just in passing. Little throwaway ‘whens’ and ‘ifs’ in conversations that then led elsewhere. But only in absolute secrecy did Gold ever seriously consider the possibility. He never let himself dream that Neal would be alright with it, despite the wonderful fact that the pair of them had gotten rather fond of each other. (Belle was always up to be the less embarrassing option whenever he needed driving to or from concerts.)

But that didn’t mean…

“Well, I… I-I… Not if you’d be -”

“You’re gonna lose your mind on your own. Plenty of room now.”

“Room? That… Th-That’s not… Neal. _Son_.”

While he stammered and failed to catch the slippery words he needed not to sound like an utter idiot, Neal rolled his eyes with a deep sigh.

“Alright, what’s the problem?”

“Son, you may be living here for the moment, but i-in a sense, you’re not living here at all. Eh? You’re just… staying here. It’s your house, too, and when you come back after you graduate, I want you to feel like…”

Gold’s voice died a quiet and dry death in his throat as the reality of the situation struck him, all at once, hard as stone and cold as ice. His son looked at him as if at a kitten with its paw in a plaster cast. Didn’t help much, that. Time for another painful smile, then.

“Right,” he croaked. “I see. Of course.”

They just looked at each other. Nothing else. A cloud moved in front of the sun and cast a shadow on the pair of them and their silence. He didn’t know what to say.

“Anyway, you’re too old not to be living with your girlfriend. Get a grip.”

Gold laughed, throwing his head back to grin up at the sky. How very like him it was to make him laugh when what he really wanted to do was cry.

“Fair point,” he sighed, smiling as he wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes. “We’ll see, eh? We’ll see.”

He reached out to pat his arm, but he was pulled into another hug instead. It was even more difficult letting go that time. Worse watching him take much longer to disappear from his sight, too. He even found himself taking a few aimless steps after him, prolonging the suffering.

So he supposed he had it coming when Neal looked back one last time to shout, “Ask her!”

_Fuck._

His heart skipped a terrifying beat. He knew Belle might have heard that; she’d been leaning against the hood of the car, watching them all this time. That might have been the bloody point, come to think of it. He looked over his shoulder and saw her squinting against the sun as it reappeared from behind the clouds.

“Ask me what?” she asked, pushing herself away from the car with a curious little smile. “He meant me, right?”

“Ah, just… If you want a sandwich, that’s all. He thought you might be hungry.”

“That’s sweet. Maybe in a bit,” she mumbled as she stretched her arms over her head and broke out into a yawn. Good thing she was so sleepy. Her bullshit detector was nowhere near functional. “Could use some coffee, though.”

“Are you sure, sweetheart? I thought maybe you’d want to take a nap.”

She shook her head, closed the distance between them, put her warm hands on his cheeks and kissed him. Softly, slowly, sweetly.

“Coffee.”

Gold smiled and gave a little nod. He was too grateful to argue, too intimidated by the idea of the long drive back without her words to drown out the sadness and keep it at bay.

Belle began to work her magic again once she was properly caffeinated. She knew of a few people who’d gone to Neal’s college, she said. All good, smart, creative people who’d had tons of fun there and got great jobs after, she assured him. Mostly friends of Jefferson’s, some of them could fix you up with a fake ID in record time.

“Uh… But uh… Those guys definitely graduated by now. Don’t worry about it.”

And then there was the drummer from a local band who lost an eye because the bassist decided to smash her bass guitar just _once_ and it splintered terribly, but “she’s super good at embroidery and cool stuff like that,” so now she spends her free time making her bandmate, who voluntarily goes by Cyclops these days, tons of decorative eyepatches. No bad blood, so Belle said.

It was hilariously easy to pinpoint the exact moment caffeine failed her. His heavy-handed neon light sign of a pun (“Just as well. An eye for an eye, and all that.”) flew right over her head, and when she blinked at him in her confusion, her eyelids seemed much heavier than before. Poor thing quietened down after that, and he was out of a distraction. At least the sun was beginning to set. It reminded him that when he got home, there was a small chance of sleep. Something to look forward to, if indeed sleep came that night.

“Do you want a sandwich?” she asked.

“No, darling. Thank you. I’m not hungry.”

She opened the slightly overstuffed glove box and, in her search for the cucumber sandwiches, took out the box of tissues, his sunglasses case, and - he craned his neck to see a bit better - a small stack of CDs. His stomach flipped.

“Those are Neal’s,” he said quietly.

“Hm?”

“Belle, do you think we need to…”

He paused. His voice was too dry. His mouth was too dry. He hadn’t had a sip of water since that morning.

“He’ll need these, won’t he? We’d better turn around.”

“Baby. How long have those been in there?”

He hadn’t noticed his heart racing until she put her hand on his elbow and the touch calmed him, as it always did. They’d been in there for two or three years, at least. He’d only upgraded from a cassette player because Neal had asked.

“I’m being pathetic aren’t I?” he sighed.

“You’re being a dad,” she replied with a benevolent smile.

Same thing, Neal would say.

The sky turned a dark blue as they drove. The street lights buzzed to life. Ghostly warm light swept over Belle’s sleepy face in waves as they neared home. Her home, first. On long, straight stretches of empty road, Gold let himself stare a little longer, hoping she would blink herself out of her trance, look at him and notice that he was held together only with the loosest of stitches. He wanted her to ask him how he was holding up, so that he could tell her that he wasn’t. Not very much at all. Even though he technically was.

In the underpass, just as he focused his gaze back on the road, he felt her hand on his thigh. He looked at her. She seemed sleepy still, but she was smiling.

“Do you feel a bit better yet?” she asked.

“Maybe a little bit. I don’t know.”

With quick, decisive movements, she unbuckled her seatbelt and slid closer on the seat.

“Belle, your seatbelt!”

“In a bit.”

“But -”

She nestled herself sweetly against his side and rested her head on his shoulder. Warm, soft pressure that told his muscles to melt and his heart to slow. With a sigh, Gold kissed the top of her head.

“This isn’t safe.”

“It’s fine. I’ll move back in a moment.”

Her warmth seeped through the fabric of his shirt. As his heart slowed, so did the car. For a little while, he tried to sync his breathing with hers, because that seemed like a good thing to do on a very primitive level.

“I’m an idiot, Belle.”

“You’re not.”

“I just assumed he would… come back. Live with me forever. Sounds ridiculous now that I say it out loud, and what else is the point of me if not to make sure he makes it on his own, I _know_ , but I really…”

His chest was too tight for the words to come out, now. All he could do now was bite his tongue and will the tears not to overflow.

“You’re not an idiot,” Belle repeated, and she lifted her head just for a moment to kiss his shoulder. “It’s only just sinking in, that’s all. It’s alright.”

She made so much sense, she did. Even half-asleep. And as the panicked urge to send her safely back to her side of the car subsided, and his shoulder grew warmer and warmer under the weight of her blue head, and the scent of her flowery shampoo made him think of all the times she slipped into the shower with him, Gold wondered why on earth he should ever be without her.

“Move in with me.”

The pressure on his shoulder went away, and when he glanced at her, he found her striking eyes fluttering all over his face in quiet wonder. A small smile flickered on her face. He didn’t know what it meant. He could only think to mirror it while his heart thumped somewhere in the pit of his stomach.

Then she bit her lip, and the smile was gone. She moved back to her seat, buckled up again, and softly told him, “That won’t make your nest feel any less empty.”

He was lost.

“A-Are you saying that… that’s not something you’d want to…”

His strained voice petered out when she put her comforting hand on his thigh again.

“I’m not saying that at all,” she assured him, drawing soothing circles against his thigh with her thumb. “Just… Don’t ask me now. Stay in my nest for the night?”

He must have looked like a fish to her, opening and closing his mouth to try and push out words that weren’t even there.

“Or do you want to go home?” she guessed.

“No! No, I’ll stay over.”

Might even hide in one of her cupboards and stay forever.

…

Belle led him up the stairs to her apartment with their fingers hooked together, as if she believed he might wander off. And he did feel a little lost. A little dazed. He’d asked her, and she hadn’t said yes. Her words wouldn’t stop echoing in his head anyway, so he’d spent the last few miles of their drive back overanalyzing them, over and over and over. Picking at the words, at the way he thought she’d said them. There had been kindness in her voice, and there had been exhaustion, too. The one could be interpreted as a good sign, he supposed, and the other might have been explanatory. Both good, maybe. Just maybe. Not disastrous, at least. But by the time they’d climbed the stairs and came to a halt in front of her door, Gold still hadn’t made any sense of it.

How was he going to get to sleep, now? His brain wouldn’t stop whirring. She’d let go of his hand to find her keys in her purse, and then his phone buzzed in his pocket. A text. Neal. No phone call tonight, then.

_Ask her. Good night_

All he could think to text back was good night, and I love you, and be safe. ‘I’m trying, I swear!’, while true, seemed a bit childish.

“Belle, back in the car,” he began, watching her small hands as they busied themselves with the fiddly lock. “What I said, it… It wasn’t a spur of the moment thing. I’ve been thinking about it for a while. Haven’t you?”

“You know I have,” said Belle, at long last opening the door and beckoning for him to follow. The silence that came next made him wonder if _‘don’t ask me now’_ really meant _‘ask me again in three quarters of an hour’_ like he’d translated it to mean.

Probably not, judging from the look she gave him after she turned on the light in her kitchen and closed the door behind them. Warm halogen smile. Gold felt like the kitten with the broken paw again.

“Please don’t look so worried,” she said, her voice nearly a whisper.

She became suddenly very feline herself as she slid up close to him and splayed her hands on his chest, all magic eyes and compassionate smile. When he put his hands on her hips and pulled her warm body a little bit closer, the fight went out of him.

“Shouldn’t I be?” he asked in a deep purr, tilting his head down to slide his nose against hers.

“You know I love you. If you wanna ask again when your heart doesn’t hurt, I’ll say yes.”

Gold frowned, opened his mouth both to tell her he loved her and to ask her what the bloody point was of - … and managed neither when he was promptly kissed into blissful silence.

It didn’t matter then, what the “bloody point” of all that was if the answer would be yes - _oh God, it would be yes!_ \- because when her fingers began to fiddle with his tie and the top button of his shirt, they both threw off sleep like old winter coats on a warm spring day. And when she kissed a path down his belly, tugged his trousers down over his hips and guided his hands to her hair, thoughts of silent houses and empty rooms were lightyears away. By the time he’d made her come, there was nothing left of him but what was there in her arms, and when he came, there might as well have been nothing beyond the borders of her bed.

It was truly a blessing that he’d never been one to toss and turn at night. Not a deep sleeper, necessarily, but a fairly immobile one. He had no problem serving as Belle’s mattress for a good chunk of the night. She slept peacefully on his chest in the darkness, now. Well, half-draped across his chest, sort of. Her head rested against his arm, her arm was thrown over his belly, one of her legs over his own. Staring up at the ceiling, Gold tried to find some sort of lullaby in the sounds that were keeping him awake. The early autumn wind whipped around the building, whistled and made the bamboo wind chime out on the balcony provide percussion for its song. Belle had bought that thing on one of their flea market outings. He still remembered the look on her face when she walked away from the deal only one dollar poorer. Grinning like she’d won the lottery. She’d even squealed.

He may have been sleepless that night, but it wasn’t because he was worried about Neal. Not really. Not that much more than usual. Whatever he was up to that night, Gold trusted he would be going about it responsibly. No doubt in his mind about that. And it wasn’t really Belle’s strange non-rejection earlier that kept him up, either. Insecurity had never slinked back into his skull once she’d chased it out so thoroughly.

In fact, he thought he understood, now. He must have made the prospect of moving in with him and his sullen face sound just about as appealing as an invitation by a condemned man to stay and watch the hanging. In the soothing cover of darkness, he began to hope that his heart might not be hurting that much longer. How could it, if he had Belle around? She was right. It was all still sinking in. It would hurt less, soon.

When he opened his eyes and saw sunlight streaming in from under the curtains, Gold knew he must have slept. He didn’t even feel all that terrible either. The last time he’d opened his eyes, the sun hadn’t risen yet, and Belle still had her head on his arm. But she’d drifted away, as she always did, right back to her spot on the bed.

And that was fine. That meant he could get up without waking her. Well, it usually did. Not today, he realized as he lifted the covers and planted his feet quietly on the floor. Suddenly the mass of sheets and hair on the other side began to stir, and moaned.

Fuck. He froze. Sat perfectly still on the edge of the bed, held his breath and, ah - saw that it was too late. From underneath the sheets appeared a pair of small eyes, bright blue, wet and sleepy. They blinked and found his.

“I’m making breakfast,” Gold murmured in the deep voice she once told him she found soothing. “I’m making it very slowly. Go back to sleep, sweetheart.”

As her lips curled into a lazy smile, Gold leaned down to kiss her forehead. She made a little mewling sound and rolled over again, burying her smiling face in her pillow and drawing the covers back up over her head.

“Good girl.”

He found his trousers somewhere at the foot of the bed and picked up his crumpled shirt from the coffee table. That was where his phone was, too, and for an incredibly brainless second, he considered texting Neal good morning, but he wisely rescheduled to some point in the afternoon. From there on out, it was just a matter of going as slow as possible and trying not to stump his toe on anything in the darkness. He wanted to wait a while to turn the lights on. The coffee maker was very cooperative in this endeavor, bubbling pleasantly but quietly and helpfully lighting up the buttons Gold knew he wouldn’t have been able to find otherwise. The refrigerator light, of course, was also very helpful.

He only ran into issues when the onion and the mushrooms were sliced and the eggs were beaten, staring himself blind at the little engraved symbols next to the four dials indicating which dial corresponded to which burner on the stove. He was about to give up and switch on the light in the kitchen when suddenly, with the familiar racket of wooden curtain rings sliding and _clacking_ together, the room was flooded in white light.

He whipped around, heart skipping a beat. Belle stood and stretched in front of the window, her messy hair glowing blue in the pale morning light. He waited to tell her good morning until she’d finished stretching. Let his eyes linger on her pale thighs in the mean time. She hadn’t bothered with pajama pants last night, wanted to get straight back into bed to cuddle his brain back into his skull after she’d fucked it out. Bless her impatience.

“Morning, hedgehog,” she sang as she turned and shuffled over to the kitchen, hitting every light on the way there. The ridiculous endearment warmed his heart. He hadn’t thought she’d commit to it the way she had. It was almost starting to sound natural.

“Morning, love. Sleep well?”

“Yeah, not too bad,” she replied. Her voice always sounded a little different in the morning. Deeper, a little hoarse. “How are you feeling?”

She turned on the light in the kitchen and sidled up to him, sliding an arm around his waist. Her warmth made him smile down at the melting butter in his pan.

“Feeling better, actually.”

And when he looked down at her smiling face with her cheeks still pink from sleep, he realized that he wasn’t even lying.

“You are?” she asked, sounding so pleased and so hopeful that he couldn’t help but tilt his head down and kiss her soft lips.

“I am.”

“That’s wonderful.”

She beamed at him, took the little bowl of sliced mushrooms and let them fall into the sizzling pan, then wandered off to let him do his thing in the kitchen. The entire studio smelled beautifully before long, and the coffee was nearly done, too. Gold had just fixed her plate and was about to toss the other half of the omelette on his own plate, when suddenly it occurred to him that she was taking rather a long time to get dressed. He hadn’t even poured the eggs in the pan when she’d started rummaging in her closet, and she was _still_ at it, by the sound of it.

“Belle?” he tried, watching her with slightly narrowed eyes as he put their plates on the little kitchen table.

He only noticed the red travel bag on the floor when she dropped a lacy bra into it and looked over her shoulder with an absent, “Hm?”

“What are you doing, love?”

A black sweatshirt next, folded somewhat neatly but then simply dropped into the bag from waist height.

“I’m packing. Is breakfast ready? Cause I can stop for a minute.”

“Ah, well, yes, it’s - … You’re what?”

“Packing!”

Gold had no idea why he had to move closer and stare at the red bag on the floor for a full seven seconds before the meaning of her words finally penetrated his thick skull and made his eyes grow the size of coffee cups.

“You’re… packing?”

She’d found the pair of panties that matched the bra she’d already made disappear in the bag. He liked those.

“Not everything, obviously,” she clarified, grinning and rolling her eyes at herself. “Bag’s not that big.”

Gold’s poor heart was about ready to start celebrating. His brain was far too much of a frightened old pessimist to let it.

“But I… I thought you wanted me to ask.”

Faltering, she put the t-shirt she’d just grabbed back on the shelf and turned to touch his arm with her warm hand, giving him a smile that made him feel like the poor maimed kitten he was yesterday again. He thought he’d gotten rid of that mangy thing.

“You were taking too long.”

From his throat came a strange noise, a cross between a huff and a shocked, strangled laugh. Probably very similar to the sound he would make when Belle inevitably gave him the final fright of his life, if he didn’t get around to tying that little bell on her like he’d been meaning to for over a year now.

“You just woke up!” he argued, completely and utterly baffled.

Belle grinned, shrugged, and moved past him to the coffee maker, stroking his shoulder in passing. He watched her pour them two cups of coffee and wondered if this was another unplanned disaster of a road trip in the making. Would she regret this? If she moved in with him now, would she grow to hate her decision as the years passed, and hate him? Was it even possible to move in with someone on impulse? Surely there was a point at which the caffeine wore off (she hadn’t even had any today!) and the rose tinted glasses grew dull and bothersome, was there not? Could that point possibly be situated _after_ the apartment was sublet and the moving van booked?

Worse. What if she was only agreeing to it because he was such a sad, pitiful mess the night before, and she was so pure and kind?

She handed him his cup of coffee, wonderfully hot and fragrant. “Okay. You’re looking at me all weird,” she said, her brow suddenly wrinkled with worry. “Weren’t you planning on asking again?”

“No!” he cried out, and when she raised her brow in heartbreaking confusion, he added a, “Yes, I mean, of course I was going to ask, love. I still want you to move in.”

“Oh!” she sighed, visibly relieved.

“I’m a little surprised you changed your mind so quickly, that’s all.”

“But I didn’t change my mind!” she explained, pausing to blow gently into her hot cup of coffee. “Not really. I was always going to say yes. Didn’t I tell you that?”

“I… Well, yes,” he said, knitting his eyebrows together. “You did.”

“When you asked me yesterday… Deep down, I knew you meant it. I did, but… I also knew it wasn’t coming from a happy place. I had to be sure.”

That made sense to him. He’d suspected at much the night before, staring at the crack in her ceiling above her bed. But when she said it like that with that caring look in her eyes, every little bit of his being believed it.

Except his mouth, apparently.

“So you… You really do want to move in with me?”

His beautiful Belle looked at him as if he’d grown a couple more heads in front of her very eyes, then shook her head in disbelief and grinned.

“Baby,” she whispered, leaning in close as if sharing with him a great secret. “ _I was packing_.”

Breakfast was getting well and truly cold now, but it didn’t matter. He didn’t care. Belle could always change his mood with nothing more than a subtle touch or a look, and she was doing it right now. She was smirking at him as she put down her cup on the table, biting her lip as she took his cup from his hands and put that away, too. Answering her smirk with one of his own, Gold put his hands just at her waist, fingers stretching over the black fabric of her band shirt, prepared to strike.

“Wasn’t breakfast that did it, then?” he asked in a playful growl, tightening his grip on her waist for a moment - a fair warning. “Cause I’m not above devoting myself to culinary servitude if that means you’ll definitely move in with me.”

“Hold on just a minute,” she mumbled, putting on a poor attempt at a disgruntled look. “That wasn’t part of the deal already?”

He laughed and pulled her a little bit closer, his fingers creeping up to the sensitive spots just under her ribcage. Tried and tested, never failed to make her giggle and squeal. He didn’t push those buttons just yet, though. He liked how quiet and red and squirmy she got when she was waiting for it.

“If you don’t stop being cute, breakfast’s going to be ice cold by the time I’m done with you. I’m not cooking it again.”

“You totally would if I asked, and you know - _ah!_ ”

They drifted into her bed’s irresistible field of gravity and stumbled towards it, kissing, tickling, stepping on clothes and each other’s toes until the back of Gold’s legs hit the edge of the bed and they both fell down, laughing and squealing and holding on to each other for dear life. It was tremendously fortunate that they had just decided to spend their future nights in his bed, because that day was the day that Belle’s bed finally broke.


End file.
